Arctic Phantom
by Kamoodle
Summary: This story is actually a concept from an AGI game that I played and enjoyed. Most of the characters and the setting throughout will be original from the game but there are also a few differences like a new protagonist and a much extended plot.
1. Prologue

As my desk lamp cranes its flexible neck over my workstation like a composed vulture waiting for its victim to perish from dehydration, its isolated light illuminates my dingy space of an apartment with partial life. I'd have spared a moment to flip on a few more switches once the evening dusk settled in a little while ago, but instead I poured all my attention onto this finale that is ultimately within arm's reach.

For the past five months, my latest invention has challenged me in its game, taunting me every time I ran into a dead-end. Now, I think it is congratulating me warmly for my tireless efforts.

After setting my tiny screwdriver alongside my other tools, I stretch out my body and pop every aching knuckle that feel like they are going to fall right off my metacarpals. My eyes, strained from the hours of perseverance like I had finished watching a marathon of movies, gawk at the so-called masterpiece without a single blink.

"My gosh…I cannot believe it's finally finished," I mumble in disbelief, blinking in a unified agreement.

This "masterpiece" is nothing more than a simple electronics device, identical to that of a touch-screen phone but with different features. No bigger than my hand, I can easily wrap my fingers around it, like how a mechanized claw in a prize machine will rarely hold an awaiting prize firmly in its grasp. Despite its minuscule size, it can comfortably fit a standard number pad, an arrow pad, and a touch-screen on its smooth, oil-black surface. The screen has recognizable icons lined around its inner parameter, each with a designated task available. Finally, the skin itself is physically indestructible.

Before fusing the device together, I tested the skin on its own to ensure it was indeed impenetrable like the advertisement promised. I have set it on fire, dropped it from high places, abused it with various tools, etc. The skin shrugged everything off without showing a point of damage whatsoever. It made me wonder whether it's the same kind of material they used for those old Gameboy portable consoles decades past, because they were able to withstand any kind of torment a kid can dish out at them.

Releasing myself from the awkward stupor, I press the "Power" button near the top of the gadget and wait. The screen gleams a blinding white, causing the icons to darken in contrast with the new light. A lively apple-green luminescence outlines all the buttons and their characters on the gadget's face.

"Hmm, while this is warming up, I'll grab a snack and go to the bathroom. Shouldn't take too long," I say to myself, confident I will return to find no problems.

Back with a half-eaten protein bar and some soy milk, I sink back into my chair with an exhale. Noticing the screen remaining the way I had left it, it seems fully ready to perform any commands. My fingers tap-dance excitably on the icons, watching pictures and words zip by like a slideshow as I apply a few settings to suit my personal preference. At one more transition, I cease at something brand new.

There I am, looking at my own back. The Cheshire cat's sneer of pride spreads on my glowing cheeks, unfurling to almost an evil curl. Chortles of ecstasy fill inside my larynx, as if timid to meet the stranger currently gazing at me, although I actually know who else is here. Fighting back the anxiety, I spin around on my chair and bare my toothy smile toward the near bottomless void of night that has consumed most of my living room.

"Ready or not, here I come," I warn with a smug tone.

According to the picture on my screen, I am focusing straight at them even though they are nowhere in sight. Slowly rising from my seat with the device in hand, I prepare to confront myself in the dark. The rods in my retinas gradually adjust to night vision as I tiptoe forth very cautiously to avoid colliding into any furniture. Eventually, I am mere inches away from the wall with still no vision of the mysterious stranger.

"Hmm, maybe you're more afraid of me," I taunt them coolly.

I gently stroke at the vertical surface with my fingers like several blunt paintbrushes; sharp eyes inspecting every millimeter. My index finger then bumps against something that is not quite part of the wall. A golden dot of reflection from a street light outside my living room's patio mirrors from a shiny surface no bigger than a pin's head. I pluck the object off the wall, and instantaneously, the gadget's screen reverts back to the same blinding white as previously. With excitement in my fingertips causing them to tremble at the light grip, I allow the object to slide onto my waiting palm instead.

The culprit who spied on me is actually a penny-sized camera, which is another piece to my creation. It has the same skin as the device to deter destroying it easily, and that "shiny surface" is typically its eye for perception. When "magnetized" to a solid surface, it will go chameleon and blend in with its colors. This also explains why the screen changed as soon as I removed the camera from the wall, because it only becomes active when attached.

Reason for the incognito is to avoid the unsettling suspicion of any criminals or camera-shy people. I presumed this feature alone to be of tremendous aid to this very community that frankly has not witnessed many changes throughout these past two decades. It may be 2033, but aside from the humongous leap in technology and everyone owning a supercomputer, everything else has only experienced a gradual progress. Anyway, I am certain my invention overall will bring an improved security to homes, businesses, and other places around the globe; I can begin by launching a few cameras in my flat for starters.

This complex has, unfortunately, become more jeopardized since our most beloved security guard retired after numerous years and the others have not pulled their weight as diligently as he did. As a result, locals have reported more burglaries, assaults, and even arson. Surprisingly, I started my project shortly before he announced his retirement, so one could say I predicted this. As much as I am overly keen on selling my products to the complex straightaway to prove how useful they can be, I don't want to stuff them in people's faces so abruptly either.

"Okay, Andrea, enough gloating with this mindless appreciation," I remind myself. "Time to put these to the final test."

Using my gadget's white screen as a light source, I head through the bleak living room to a short hallway leading to my bedroom and the front door. It would be better to not turn the overhead light here, otherwise its stronger light will seep in through the cracks of the bedroom door and interfere with the test.

Pushing the bedroom door shut with a soft click, I very gingerly make my way to the other side of the enclosure, still using my "flashlight" as guidance through the darkness that is even bleaker than my living room, presently. Due to my laziness, I have not allotted the required effort to clean up the discarded computer parts that litter my floor, and I have smacked my feet against them enough times to accumulate some unpleasant scratches and scars.

Assuming I am getting close, I stretch out my free hand. My fingers poke a bit hard at the wall and I cruise to a stop. Pinching the camera into a grip with the same fingers, I lure it in closer until it yanks away by an unknown force and plants itself on the wall. Simultaneously, my light source goes out, leaving only the glowing pads on the gadget's surface and the transparent icons, which are now silver to stand out against the black that devoured the entire screen.

I sidestep away from the camera's view and lean against the wall, causing the wooden studs behind the dry wall to groan feebly like a weak bird. So far, my eyes have mostly adapted to the night, enough to see the ebbing illumination of light through the cracks of the door from my workstation and the soft, indigo glow outside my single window in the room, creating a halo behind the thick curtains.

While holding the gadget at chest level, the obscure silhouette of my hand hovers over it with fingers eager to press another icon. Leaving a smudge of fingerprint on the screen, I wait once again. The screen eventually unveils vague colors of furniture and the computer parts on the floor. Despite the lack of richer color and light to distinguish them precisely, the details are still lucid enough to figure out what they are.

I believe this camera's ability for enhanced night vision will be vital for whenever events are bound to occur at night while everyone is trapped into their own dream worlds. After all, it's typically when burglars snoop around.

Overly delighted with the flawless result my equipment performed, my feet freely dances away to a favorite song suddenly playing in my head, while my throat animates with a melody of giggles. One of my feet then smacks against an object on the floor unexpectedly, creating a load of clatter over the worn, shaggy carpet.

"Ow!" I spout at a similar level as the shot of pain spreads throughout my tender toes.

The device slips from my loosened grip and lands beside my feet with a muffled bounce. I grit my teeth and hold my breath while waiting for hurt to peak before wearing down. No way to check if I am bleeding at this point while in the dark.

Nevertheless, even when that show ended in pain and humiliation, I am happy that I can sleep easy tonight, knowing that my project has reached a conclusion after so many obstacles blocking my path.

I bend down to retrieve the gadget from the floor while still enduring the hurt. Before rising back to full height, a loud wailing blares out of nowhere. The device ends up kissing the carpet again as I shriek in terror and throw my hands over my ears. Petrified like a dead tree, my eyeballs zip side-to-side while my brain yells furiously as to what the heck is going on here. Then a bright light emits from the screen. With petty courage left in my system, I crouch and reach for the gadget again. Finally figuring out where the wails are coming from, my hand freezes in midair.

There…there's no way it can produce this much cacophony at a high volume, not with the tiny speakers I installed anyway.

What I see next on the screen forces my brain to shut up, flabbergasted of the next unthinkable presenting itself.

White apparitions soar gracefully over my furniture like silk curtains waving in the wind. Paying more attention to both the fluid animation of the spirits and the noise, that's when I realize they are in sync, like it is them communicating in this eerie aria.

As the radical scene continues, I snap out of my paralysis and panic. With the screaming electronic clenched tightly in my hand despite the discomfort of holding it, I pat the wall desperately for the light switch. Accumulating minor nicks and scratches on my fingers from the rugged surface, I finally sense the smooth edge of the light panel and scramble for the switch.

My eyelids snap shut right as the ceiling light stings into my eyes, overcoming the night with a new life. The wailing then ceases, allowing just the air-conditioner above my head to resume its obnoxious humming without another intrusion. I wait impatiently for a minute before being able to keep my eyes barely open at the slits and I look around.

Now nothing is happening. Even with the active camera still in observance, those same spirits that hovered over my bed seconds ago have vanished from the screen. I collapse on my rubber knees and take in deep breaths to calm down. My heart beats madly inside my throat, making me feel a bit nauseous.

"Okay, relax," I coax myself. "You did not just see anything out of the blue. Maybe…maybe it was the equipment somehow acting up. Yeah, that must be it! Still…what on earth were those things anyway?"

Digging the gadget inside my lap, I massage my face to relieve the tension that had built up underneath my skin. While staring down at the screen in confusion, the wiser part of me insists I have indeed witnessed genuine apparitions, yet I should not be scared. I shake my head skeptically, although I am beginning to agree on the latter. The sight of them may have been extraordinary but they were not horrifying. In fact, they were almost…beautiful. It was honestly the shrilling that spooked me.

Without another word or thought, I walk to my camera and pry it from the wall. I gaze around the room, gradually feeling more defeated than frightened. I can only assume with a more logical explanation my equipment was bugging out and created this outstanding scenario in the process, which actually makes no sense because they passed their last test with flying colors.

Well, nothing else can be done. With panic slowly seeping back in, my first instinct is to grab my LED night light from the kitchen and use it in here for the night. Hard to believe such an episode like this would leave me terrified of the dark. Either way, I need to forget about it and just sleep as peacefully as I can tonight. Best thing to do is concentrate on this enigma first thing in the morning after my groggy body is rejuvenated with a hearty breakfast.

Speaking of which, I haven't finished my snack yet. That and a late-night dinner should help.


	2. Chapter 1

I peacefully stir from the short and sweet ending to a dream, and my clouded vision eventually reveals the view of my room partially lit by the morning sun through the curtains. I notice my body is curled into a compact ball like a snoozing cat, with most of the covers kicked away at the foot of the bed. For some lame reason, I tend to remove them while dormant, and it's not always I get too snug under them either.

The springs inside the mattress moan with hoarse squeaks as I shift my body to the edge of the bed and raise my head from the plump pillow. The alarm clock reads eleven sharp, and the sun is overly eager to shout, "Good morning, sleepyhead!" I heave my lazy butt up and slide the curtains out of the way, only for my sensitive eyes to receive the brunt of the sun's harmful rays. My bedroom immediately thrives as new light floods in, with various computer parts shooting beams of sunlight at obscure places. I give my room a tired, indifferent stare all around, soon to be disturbed by the regular urge to answer nature's call.

While listening to the toilet fill up with new water after a flush, I fling the damp washcloth over the towel rack after scrubbing my face to help wake up some more. Gazing into my pale and pathetic countenance in the mirror, I'm surprised to know I'm not truly exhausted despite the slightly dark purple crescents wrapped around my eyes after countless years of computer usage. I was less confident in having a good night's sleep after that incredulous event last night, and I actually experienced a recurring dream about it, too.

* * *

I found myself in the exact same place beside my camera, I presume, with my gadget screaming with horror in my hand and my camera unveiling the silky apparitions waving over my bed. I scrambled for the light...only the switch wasn't there this time. Frightened to total surrender, I glued my back against the wall like wallpaper and proceeded to watch them through the screen.

"Help…me…"

My petrified body quickly relaxed as I was able to decipher the message clearly through the cacophony. It sounded more like a...cry of despair?

"How…how can I help?" I spoke to the screen, loud enough for my own words to not be drowned in their wails.

Before an answer was revealed, the apparitions disappeared and my electronic settled down.

* * *

That's all I can recollect, although that's pretty much the bulk of it. Even though I was scared stiff, my only major concern then was not finding the light switch. Thinking back on their plea, I'll admit that I'm feeling condolences for these helpless spirits and want to assist. How can I though? I'm nothing more than a mortal without some supernatural gift. I am just a young and naïve female inventor with the common passion of seeking success in the world.

Returning to reality, I turn away from the mirror with a somber expression painted on my face and exit the bathroom.

Entering the kitchen, which is across the short hallway from the bedroom, I flip on the small plasma television with the universal remote and leave it running on the current channel. I toss occasional glimpses at the commercials blabbing away while preparing a light breakfast of only cereal, fruit, and juice. Before drowning my cereal in milk, I set everything else on a quaint table by the edge of the kitchen cabinets before leaving the kitchen.

While grazing away without a care like a lax cow, my mind replays the persisting dream. I think it's now apparent there's nothing wrong with my equipment, not if I encountered the same event in my subconscious. I'm still inquisitive to check and make sure, but at least I'm delighted they are not the primary issue as I suspected. On the other hand, I had no idea they can detect ghosts.

* * *

All filled up twenty minutes later, I carry my dirty dishes to the sink for a thorough rinsing before sorting them in the dish washer for a future washing. Abandoning the kitchen, I trot to my workstation where I left my equipment last night before going to bed. I turn on the camera device and set the camera facing up on the workstation while waiting for the gadget to warm up. The following minute, I notice the perception of me towering over the camera, like a tall skyscraper made of flesh and blood rather than steel and concrete. Voting against my original judgment to dismantle my electronics for further investigation regarding that event, I sigh with a little frustration and set the camera device on napping mode.

With that ordeal out of the way, I can proceed with the more enthralling moment I've been waiting for since I started my project. Blocks away from my apartment complex is a conventions center, where people of my stature will either try to sell their products or shop away like it's Christmastime. Shoot, I even bought some accessories there myself as convenience for my living space, and most of them have actually proven their worth quite well.

With all the gear in hand, I approach a steel case sitting beside the large flat screen TV on a teak set of drawers. Flipping the latches up, I lift open the case to reveal a black foam cushion containing more cameras.

In total, I've designed fifty cameras over the five-month course of my scheme, with the one currently imprisoned in my grasp being the last of the bunch. This cushion, along with another like it underneath, has enough indentations to snugly fit in twenty-five cameras. I insisted on providing them utter protection so their rides inside will always be smooth while in motion. Then, there's one more cushion at the bottom for a special gun. Its specific purpose is to shoot the cameras at those hard-to-reach places and was never intended as a firearm. It can also summon them back into its holster like magic, whenever they are no longer required at that particular location. Don't ask me how that works. That's what the instructions manual for the sucker implied, anyway.

Once the final camera is tucked inside the cushion with the others, I close up the case softly and carry it to a folding table beside the front door along with my camera device. All that's left now is a refreshing bath before leaving. A girl's appearance is the key to a dignified entrance, after all.

* * *

I fasten the last button on my business jacket and tug it down over my dark trousers. Observing myself in the mirror, I appear more ready for a job interview than elsewhere. With a girlish giggle, I hold my fists against my hips and sneer at my curvature.

Leaving the bathroom, I shut the closet's gaping door and turn on the dormant lamp beside the bed, just in case I return home late. Hyperventilating from the increasing excitement brewing through my veins, I return to my gear and unlock the front door. I slip the device inside the only pocket stitched into my trousers, grab the steel case, and fling open the door with moderate force. After locking up the apartment, I zip out of sight without sparing a second to look back.

* * *

I arrive at the center in ten minutes by an invigorating jog. Since my occupation has confined me with little time to exercise, I need to get back into the healthy regimen of walking more often. I am not too guilty, however, since I frequently use the stairs throughout the apartment complex instead of the elevator.

The place is much like a cavernous shopping mall, with crowds bundled in front of various showcases and dozens of banners hanging over our heads. The banners, each with a unique design to support someone's business, wave freely by breezes from both the air-conditioner and the outdoor air inviting itself through the gaping double doors. I remain rooted on the spot, letting my hungry eyes feast on the glorious banners while people scoot past me left and right. With a long exhale, I continue forth.

While browsing for an unoccupied table to use, I rubberneck each showcase with interest. The instant I notice someone else presenting their own camera system to the public, my heart lurches and plummets to the bottom of my stomach. Eh, what am I doing, accepting defeat like that? Sure, this guy's machinery seems fancier than mine, and he won't be the only one giving me a strict competition today. I shall not let this shake my confidence though, as I have to at least try and not surrender so early in the game with my tail between my legs.

"Oh, there's a table," I murmur under my breath.

I hum a note of happiness for my fortune, as almost all these tables are taken except for those further in the back. After setting the case down and opening it, I pull all the cushions out and lay them side-by-side. Looking at the gun, I flinch and grit my teeth with concern.

"Oh, I sure hope no one will think right off the bat it's a real weapon," I say through the narrow gaps between my teeth and peek over my shoulders.

I pluck a few cameras out and flip most of them upside-down on the table so they can't vanish into camouflage. On the final step, I pull out my gadget for some needed fresh air and set it alongside everything else to complete the image. Delighted in my presentation although it's not as snazzy as the others, I grab a nearby chair and sit. Staring at my invention with a confident smirk, all that there is to do now is anticipate that lovely sale and not freak out too much. I swear, I am a serious wreck when it involves being in front of people to squeak a short "hi" to them, yet it's something I must face sometimes. Hey, if my machinery were possessed with life, we can be timid together!

Shortly, the first passersby start to gather around my table, intrigued to see what I have in store for them. Respiring deeper breaths for inspiration, I rise from my chair and begin introducing everything. For the next few minutes, I elaborate the important aspects of my invention as professionally as I can, also quickly noting the plastic gun is nothing to worry about. Luckily, those who seemed intimidated by it are now relieved.

Next, I start performing my first demonstration, informing my viewers to keep a sharp eye on the first camera as I flip it over. As soon as it disappears, unified hums emit from the crowd and their faces begin to glow with ecstasy. While explaining my camera device as the master brain behind these cameras, I allow one of the volunteers to borrow it. This person seems to know technology like an old friend, thus showing no trouble adapting to my brief instructions. He eventually unveils the flick of himself and those around him on the tiny silver screen from the camera's point-of-view. Again, more sounds of approval radiate from the group, as the man hands off my gadget for others to witness the result for themselves. One inquisitive question after another stream my way throughout, which I try to answer to the best of my knowledge whilst battling against my anxiety.

The more quiet fellows in the back leave in peace, with new bodies to replace them. For the more vocal types, half of them politely reject my offer while others, including my first volunteer, inform me they will think about contacting me in the near future for the purchase. In my dubious sarcasm, the latter is always promising.

Throughout the ensuing hours, with either confirmation I received and not one that guarantees the perfect sale, I can feel my confident energy slip beneath the cracks. I mustn't give up, because it's only a few more hours before I can go home moping like an immature brat.

Without warning, as my eyes dart over each head with my gums flapping away, I catch sight of an individual appearing into the crowd and abruptly shut myself up. As the man squeezes in closer, I study him in the prolonged silence.

His jet-black hair matches that of his three-piece suit, with the exception of the white shirt underneath it all. I immediately imagine him being a member of the Men in Black team from the movie series long ago, however, anyone can wear this style of uniform and not have to go around hunting aliens. Judging from his young yet mature countenance, I can assume he's around my age but older.

The longer I beam at this guy, the more intimate I feel about him.

"_What is going on here?"_ I think silently, baffled of my sudden devotion for a stranger.

With a warm expression embedded on his face, he asks how my invention works with motivation. Shaking my head to release myself from the trance, I oblige with even more morale than a minute ago and resume my presentation. I hastily hand him my gadget and lecture him on the basics, while other people invade his personal space for a closer observation. As I comprehensively dive deeper into the demonstration with my cameras, I can tell he's quite pleased in the outcome.

Wow, just this alone has perked up my spirits again, since I was feeling quite down in the dumps from the intermittent wave of rejects and maybes.

Throughout the duration of his visit, I try trading relevant information with the man for as long as I can keep him here. Finally, he acknowledges he'll converse with me more on my system later and bids his farewell. I sulk in disappointment as I watch him move away from my showcase, but at least his stickier promise ensures me to believe we will meet again soon. With another sigh, I resume presenting my equipment like nothing dramatic just happened.

* * *

As the day draws to the close with the flow of visitors dying down, I decide to call it off and start packing. After stuffing the cameras and the gun inside the case, I check the table for any hidden cameras I may have overlooked as shown by my device. When nothing but a white screen is confirmed for every single inactive camera, I switch the device to its napping mode once more and abandon the table with the rest of my gear. With a mixture of reviews from today, the "maybes" have given me some incentive to give this another day or so. Actually, I can plan this whole upcoming weekend since I have nothing else to do anyway.

After exiting the center, I stop by the nearest window sill and lean my case against the glass. Before I left my table, my stomach grumbled with hunger pangs; I only consumed a couple protein bars and diet sodas since breakfast to keep me going and it has been an arduous day. Ugh, my throat feels so dry and sore from all that talking, I wonder if a couple more hours would've cost me my entire voice box. I gaze around dully at my surroundings, searching for a restaurant that's close and decent enough to eat. Then a rebounding thought sketches an image of the man from earlier, driving me away from my current desire.

"Geez, what was it that made me so enthralled to see him?" I ask skeptically. "Can't be his suave appearance, since there were plenty others like him that didn't send my heart for a loop. Eh, I really can't fathom what came over me. Maybe if I just…"

My words stop short as my intuition warns me I just captured someone's attention nearby. Feeling embarrassed that I spoke too loudly, I freeze into place with my eyes scanning only what's in front.

"Excuse me," a voice says from behind.

Curiosity commands my body to respond after recognizing the voice's pitch. I turn slowly towards the source, until my eyes widen at the sight of the same man looking at me with that familiar, tranquil expression. I start to feel antsy despite my deeper obsession for him. After all, we are complete strangers.

"I apologize for intruding your presence, but I promised meeting you again to discuss your invention in a more personal manner," he calmly explains.

Heeding the contentment in his voice, I know he doesn't want to erupt any confrontations between us.

"Um, that won't be a problem, sir. I'm fine with having our special meeting," I pose a small, timid grin.

"May I suggest a place then? How about that tavern over there?" he points at a bright place two buildings down the conventions center. "Drinks are on me tonight."

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry but…I am not really a drinker. You'll have to forgive me as I do appreciate your generous offer. I was, um, going to get a bite to eat before heading back home anyway," I mention, cowering anxiously.

He delivers me a wider smile. No doubt, he senses my shy guilt.

"Hey, not to worry!" he reassures me brightly. "I won't mind pleasing your desire one way or another. This place serves food as well."

As the battle of indecision struggles recklessly in my conscious, my limbs decide to act on their independent will. My hand hooks its phalanges around the handle of the steel case and my feet accelerate to a stride in the direction of the tavern. Leering at them angrily for the sudden arrangement, the corner of my eye spots the man walking beside me, still giving me his adorable smirk.

Granted, he is a very amiable fellow so there should be no reason to fret. I was actually imagining this all day since he left my showcase.


	3. Chapter 2

As we got close enough to the tavern's entrance, the handsome stranger darts ahead and opens the door for me. Before even stepping in, the pungent aroma of cedar flows into my nostrils, causing my nose to twitch from the impact.

Pausing in front of an empty podium, there's a small sign tacked to it that reads we are free to choose our own seating. Once the man reappears in my side vision, we proceed together.

My eyes zip at every corner of the tavern in utter delight, admiring the dashing neon lights that create an ambience of rainbow colors over the bar stools and tables. The air is deafening with conversations carried on by other people and music blasting wildly through the speakers propped near the ceiling.

Wow, drinker or not, I find this an ideal place to hang out, and if they do serve food like the man implied, I wouldn't mind coming here every now and then when I'm too lazy to cook.

We readily find two bar stools available near the taps, and my partner gestures me to be seated first, which I kindly thank him for.

After we both got settled, I snatch a menu from the nearest rack and start scanning through the various categories of food they have. Meanwhile, my partner has already ordered a drink for himself and is currently waiting for me with a tolerant grin. Out of shyness, I bury my face inside the menu to avoid total distraction of his gaze and blush. I'm increasingly finding it difficult to return eye contact but at the same time, I can't stop thinking about him.

I can't fathom what's gotten over me lately. In the past, I've grown affectionate towards other men mostly who struck that special nerve in me, like hitting the bulls-eye on the target. That's, however, a temporary setback and I eventually grow bored of their presence to become normal again. This may pursue in the same suit, who knows. On the other hand, I speculate if I have…truly fallen in love? I suppress the thought.

"Okay, I figured what I want," I confirm, loud enough for my partner to hear.

I wave at a passing adolescent for attention and inform him my order. After his departure, I slip the menu back in the rack with the others. While inhaling deeper breaths to invite some more of the cedar scent into my lungs like a dear friend, the man's drink arrives.

"Ah, marvelous. Thank you very much," he acknowledges the bartender considerably.

I finally grab bravery by the horns to watch him.

He takes in one good chug to quench his thirst, then sets the mug back down on the wooden counter with a gentle knock. He rotates my way and resumes the pleasant stare, forcing me to look away.

"So, again, you'll have to excuse me for possibly unsettling you with my approach outside the center, but I still wanted to catch you before you headed home for the evening," he recites his previous message differently.

"It's perfectly fine!" I chirp happily. "I understand what this is all about."

"Hmm…" he hums with amusement. "Sounds more like you're eager to see me again."

His grin shifts into a more cunning sneer, revealing the devil on his countenance. My cheeks turn scarlet like a healthy rose the second I notice and I spin away once again, giggling like a school girl while covering my face. Having calmed down enough, I can hear him chuckling broadly at my naïve reaction.

A minute following into our silence after that brief episode, the waiter returns with my chicken salad and I thank him adorably. I steadily pour the side of dressing around as I lightly toss the salad with my fork, careful to not let any pieces fall on either the counter or me.

"Did you strike anymore luck trying to sell your electronics after my departure?" my partner resumes.

I allow myself to chew up my first bite and swallow it in peace for finding the words to speak again.

"Oh…no," I respond somberly. "You were honestly the only one more fascinated than anyone else, including those who watched you play with my device. The confirmations I received throughout the day have been nothing but negatives and 'maybes'. Hopefully, later this weekend, I'll have better chances but I'm not certain."

"Sorry about that," he sympathizes. "To be frank, I sensed your lack of misfortune today, and pardon me for saying so. Hence, I summoned you to our meeting because I have an important proposition you might be interested in."

My face molds into bewilderment and my eyes narrow. Is he offering me a job that my invention can correlate with?"

"May I ask what your name is?" he asks calmly.

"Andrea Blu, and don't you forget it!" I exclaim whimsically.

He scoffs with pleasure and unfurls that same devil's smirk.

"My inspiration as an inventor came from the multiple times I visited that center after finishing my college degree. This here is my latest design, which I feel very positive about," I explain, laying my fork on the edge of the plate and patting my hand on the steel case.

"What makes you believe your cameras will guarantee the utmost security people desire for their loved ones at home?" he asks, arching an inquisitive eyebrow.

"My primary sentiment is that cameras never lie. Once, I saw a documentary of the most eventful actions ever caught on film from around the world. Some of them weren't even the typical robber swiping a television either. Something as ludicrous as a neighbor's cat gathering a collection of underwear is nothing short of circumstance. More things tend to happen when we're not always there to witness them, like the boy who cries out "wolf" until there's sufficient proof."

The man hums and nods in agreement to my statement. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of his mug, he consumes another swig of his drink and places it back down. Then he clears his throat.

"Before digging into further details, I'll clear the air and introduce myself," he says towards his mug with closed eyes, although I know he's referring to me. "I know you're yearning to learn more about me. I can sense the energy in you." He looks back at me with another grin. "My name is William Mayfield."

With a gasp, the glow on my face illuminates broadly for the name, like the sun's rays bouncing off a lighter surface. He hums once more to my modest response.

"I believe your contrivance shall be of substantial assistance to the proposal I have in mind," he says.

"Well, spit it out, Mr. Mayfield! We aren't getting any younger over here!" I burst in an enthusiastic sarcasm.

This time, a strong guffaw roars out of him which lasts for a good minute. I bare my teeth into a cat's proud simper to this sweet attempt of making him laugh this hysterically.

"Ahh, that was good," he stammers while catching his breath. "Your sense of humor is quite suitable for my taste."

"It wasn't much but thanks," I say lively.

"I do, however, prefer to be called William, or Bill by my friends. Mr. Mayfield makes me feel so old," he scowls slightly in the end.

"Wait, we're the same age, aren't we?" I ask puzzled.

"Is that a trick question?" he raises an eyebrow again, tapping his fingers on the counter as if irritated.

"Oh, um, I don't know," I whimper with guilt.

I really should have put more thought into my vocal actions before letting my mouth decide for itself.

"Hmm, I suppose our ages MIGHT coincide with each other?" he singsongs into a near falsetto. "What do you think?"

"I'm twenty-six, for your information," I growl deeper.

Did we just trade our voice boxes all of a sudden? What's with the high pitch he's putting on?

"Really?" he spouts surprised. "I'm actually close to thirty but I was expecting you at a young college age until you mentioned you graduated from college. It'd be amazing if someone at that age could create the kind of machinery that you did."

Now it sounds like he's flattering me at the last comment, although I wonder more if he's also playing along. He seems to enjoy the way I'm staggering after my slip-up.

"I'm…I'm sorry for even bringing up that question. I know it came out of the left field," I apologize timidly. "So, um, William it is then. What was it you wished to consult with me about?"

He does not reply straightaway; instead, his sneer spreads wider across his cheeks than a crocodile's.

"You know what, you're quite cute when you cower like that," he flirts in a low devil's tone.

Goosebumps sprout from my skin and I gulp a sudden lump in my throat. Giving him one more modest grin, I turn back to my food and siphon deeper breaths slowly to prevent an entire explosion that will further embarrass me.

"Aw, there's no need to be afraid, Andrea. As much as I cherish your behavior, I'm nowhere near interested in getting too close on the touchy subject. If you want me to stop, I will," he reassures me.

Looking back at his now peaceful expression, I can tell he's meaning it and release myself from the tension. I will admit, I haven't had this much fun in a while.

"Also, you don't have to call me William out of humility. I'm content with any of the shorter versions of the name to make it easier," he notes.

"I like the sound of William though," I quickly point out. "I personally think it's more noble in its full version anyway."

His smirk of pride returns in appreciation for my decision.

"So, back to the main topic at hand," he suggests, going into a more solemn expression. "Are you aware of the oil-tycoon, Maxwell Mayfield?"

"Maxwell Mayfield…" I mumble, slipping into memory to ensure my prediction is correct. "That's funny, once you mentioned your last name moments ago, I was pinpointing where else I heard it because it sounded vaguely familiar. I think I paid partial attention to it on either the virtual newspaper or the Web years ago and that's why my memory's fuzzy on it. Are you actually related to this Maxwell?"

"Yes, Andrea. He was my father," he answers.

"Well, that explains it," I pipe with humor.

"Here's where I'm heading with this," he says, clearing his throat before continuing. "Over a decade ago, he set his journey for the vast and desolate tundra of Greenland for his first oil site. After finding what he believed was the immaculate hot spot, he built a station there after my late mother, Mary."

"During the first two weeks, Father and his team struck no luck unearthing a single drop of oil. However, there was something else that had gone amiss. Something…entirely unpredictable and…haunting. Some members heard mysterious ghastly voices while others witnessed ghosts meandering within their vicinity. Definitely not what you'd expect with your own eyes and ears."

"At first, Father wasn't convinced, with the warnings he received from his team. He suspected they were babbling nonsense and not focusing on their jobs, until he saw those very incidents unfold under his very eyes. He never told me what they were like precisely, but he forced everyone to evacuate from the station immediately. Who knows what devious deeds those spirits might have unwound if Father did not order them out of there sooner," he concludes.

In the midst of his story, my mind had drifted back to last night's occurrence with those wisps at that instant William got to the "haunting" part, leading me to believe where this is all streaming.

I must have been unresponsive for what felt like minutes, because the loud silence between us finally snaps me out of my daydream.

"Um, I say, that was quite a narrative!" I reply brightly, hoping I didn't worry him too much.

Yet, judging from his uneasy stare, I think I did.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concerned.

"Oh, sure!" I blurt cheerfully.

He delays the glare in a quiet discontentment, leaving me to wonder whether he will chime in again.

"Fine," I growl in defeat. "It's just, I was skeptical of how what you told me was all possible regarding those ghosts, not that I don't believe in your father's story. Still, it's nothing alarming."

"Hmm, now you're not the same girl who made me laugh like a hyena moments ago."

"Eh, to be honest, that was merely a fluke, William. I'll occasionally cook up a joke at the right time but still, I'm no good in making anybody laugh at my antics."

"I doubt it," he disagrees. "You have devoted talent, in my opinion."

"I…do?" I blink in disbelief.

He studies my disturbed expression carefully, like a passage he's read previously.

"You should put more motivation in yourself, like the tenacity you've seeped into your creations," he motions his head at the steel case.

"I suppose so," I agree only half-heartedly, glancing at the case briefly.

"Anyway, I am more than exuberant in visiting Father's old station to see everything there for myself. I'm determined to scratch the surface of this enigma and get to the bottom of it. You shall fit nicely into my team."

Food nearly lodges itself into the wrong pipe as I choke desperately in shock.

"Wha…?" I mumble, gawking at him with a hanging jaw.

Am I really capable in accompanying William to this provisional journey of his? Nothing but doubt fills my mind, and if I do mention my present feelings, he'll likely remind me of my lack of morale again.

"I…I know nothing about contacting spirits. I am not a psychic or a ghost hunter," I confess.

"It's all well and good, Andrea. I predicted you didn't fit in any of those categories. Nevertheless, I have faith your camera system can detect whatever supernatural activities might take place," he says calmly.

"How did my invention trigger that faith exactly, and above all those other inventors, I might add? I wasn't the only one showcasing their cameras today."

"A very convincing hunch," he replies. "Yes, I did notice them before finding your table as well, but I still believe your system has that extra pinch theirs don't have, which will aid well in my excursion."

Now I'm beginning to feel he knows of my own discovery somehow. Keeping a straight face on as calmly as possible, I nibble at my lip softly.

"You've been testing them to determine how they operate under distinctive conditions, am I correct?" he hits me with an important question.

"Of course," I answer, slightly flustered. "I have to guarantee they'll work efficiently but it hasn't meant I noticed anything unusual."

Darn, my exploited tone might have triggered the suspicion of the secret I wish to hide, as I can distinguish from his newly molded expression that demands thirst for knowledge. My brain scrambles for the next choice of words, hopefully one that will get me out of this predicament.

"Well?" he says sternly.

I massage my temples to soothe myself of the stress I created while desperately trying to find the solution. Pessimistic, I decide there's nothing else but to just let the truth out. If he had no trouble elaborating his father's story that I would've otherwise deemed crazy if I didn't believe in supernatural beings, then he'll understand my side of things.

Shifting nervous glances around me to make sure no one else is eavesdropping, I sigh and motion William to lean in a little closer. After he obeys my command with heightened interest, I mimic his movement while still shooting a concerned eye at places.

"I found thin, silk-like apparitions levitating over my bed during my final testing last night. Before spotting them on my screen, the gadget was wailing in sheer pain. I suspected it was them somehow communicating incomprehensively and the device was able to pick it up regardless. Then, as if the situation didn't rear its ugly head more, I had a recurring dream of the same event later that night," I disclose.

I fall speechless for a few seconds in shame.

"So, that's left me to believe I may have indeed discovered something completely extraordinary, even though I hoped that my machinery were just malfunctioning on me. I designed these cameras to uncover strange events, but nothing like this. Perhaps I made them a little…too well?"

Leaning back on my stool after reaching that conclusion, I slip back into profound concern regarding the incident. I rest my chin on my supported palm and nibble profusely at my pinky finger while staring dully into space.

Seconds later, I look back at an inquisitive William, who's been surveying me without a word since I finished.

"Studying your captivation about what you just revealed, you do not have to say anymore on the subject if it's truly bothering you," he explains calmly, breaking our silence.

"I'm sorry for my poor attempt of keeping it a secret from you. I just didn't know how you'd react to it," I mention with regret.

"Don't worry about it, Andrea. I understand your uneasiness on this discovery you encountered, which is a similar speculation why I want to go to Greenland."

"Actually, despite the surprise, I'm not TOO bothered by it. The braver part of me is intrigued to set up my system again tonight in hopes of finding these spirits and observe them more closely. It's sounds moderately fun."

"Now THAT'S the backbone I expect from you!" he strongly encourages me. "I knew you were the right person for the job."

"Um, ha ha…" I chuckle timidly.

"I'll bestow you more time to decide on whether you'd be interested in joining me on this excursion. I already arranged a team of professionals and we're planning to make haste for the tundra by helicopter first thing tomorrow morning," he continues.

"Sure, I'll think more on it. This will be an experience I'll likely enjoy," I promise him with a cute smile.

"Tell you what, if you do come and your cameras perform flawlessly in accordance, I will buy them from you for sixty grand," he proposes.

My eyes flicker wildly and my face twitches with excitement.

"Whoa, sixty-thousand dollars! Are you kidding me?!" I blatantly snap out of turn.

He nods to my reaction and that devil's smirk returns again.

Okay, that was totally uncalled for. That money does sound juicy but I know deep down that won't be the sole reason for going if I choose to. I cover half my face with my palm and shake my head in humiliation.

As the palm lowers, I accidentally fling my fork over the plate with a loud ding. I swiftly make a grab for it before it high-dives for the floor and peacefully set it back on the plate's edge. I take it more deep breaths to calm myself from that abrupt intrusion.

"Um, well…eh," I stutter like a broken record. "If, if I decide to come, I'll do it for two reasons: One, to assist you with your objective, and two, to prove my cameras aren't just piles of scrap waiting to be sold for a profit. Still, I'm open to your offer if you're willing to negotiate after the mission's complete."

"Oh, I don't know," he singsongs into falsetto again. "I have an inkling you want to come regardless."

Goosebumps erupt from my skin once more from his odd pitch.

"The second you showed your stupefied energy in my appearance, and then tried to keep me around extensively during your demonstration, I realized you developed a strong infatuation for me. What was it that created the spark, may I ask?" he asks, with his voice reverting back to normal.

My cheeks flush red again, and this time, I can feel the ascending heat underneath the skin. I'm too shy to express my feelings for him vocally, when he's already figured it out. Seconds following, he bursts into a broad laughter and I jump in fright.

"Ahh, Andrea," he says amusingly. "You know, I've had other women brag about my darling personality, and I never wanted to pose a big deal out of it. Apart from them, however, there's something about you I adore the most and I think it's your overly modest and childlike nature. Every time you lay eyes on me, you collapse on your knees in desperation, not that you truly have. I am not that intimidating, am I?"

"No, no! You're not scary at all!" I hastily reply. "I can't really say what came over me from the moment I saw you and onward. It may be the charming love I never experienced before."

He chortles a few more monotonous notes and gazes right into my eyes. This time, I manage to keep a steady eye contact in the duration.

"So, my team and I will be at the helicopter hangar across town at nine A.M. We expect to take off shortly unless there are any problems. Do you know where the hangar is?" he asks.

"Is it the one not too far from the old university I used to attend?" I wonder.

"That's it," he confirms, nodding.

"Ah, okay, then I do."

"Splendid! Hope to see you tomorrow then!" he chirps happily.

After consuming the last sip of his drink, William rises from his bar stool.

"Good night, Andrea," he winks at me before strolling behind me.

I spin swiftly in his direction as he heads to the exit without looking back, watching him until he disappears from the tavern. Slowly turning back to my salad, I resume my blank stare.

Now a wondrous opportunity is within my grasp, assuming from William's quick presumption I'm already going. It will be more considerate to not turn him down, although I hardly put much thought into it. My instruments did award me a spot into his team after all.

My hand freely reaches for the bill already paid for and I scan the numbers. Excellent, he did not have to spend too much on me. I'd hate to force a lot out of his pockets even if he wouldn't care.

Swallowing the last bite, I snatch some free packages of crackers beside the menu rack and hop off my stool with the case also in hand.

* * *

After locking up behind me in my apartment, I lay my case on the folding table. Gazing at it contently, I soon give my entire flat the full rotation of the apathetic stare. Currently, the only lights chasing away some of the darkness are the lamp from my bedroom and the one over the workstation.

With a temptation for a snack, I rip out one of the packages of crackers from my pocket. Suddenly, I'm ceased with the wiser idea of saving them for the trip, since it's presently unknown how long the trip will take to the Greenland destination.

Nodding to myself in agreement, although slightly bummed out, I expose the rest and stack them in a leaning tower against the case. Going with plan B instead, I enter the kitchen and snatch a few pieces of candy from the nifty jar. With cheeks bulging like an indulged hamster, I head to the workstation to shut off the lamp before entering the bedroom.

* * *

An hour later, I leave the bathroom all squeaky clean and refreshed for a good night's sleep. Gaping my closet door wide open, I step into the compact enclosure and toss out my traveling baggage onto the bed. It flies open in its landing, like a Venus flytrap casually waiting for its next meal to wander by too closely. I remove a few pieces of clothing, mostly whatever best winter attire I own, and fold them up conveniently inside the luggage. Aware that Greenland is quite far up north thus chilly, I can only hope these will suffice.

With the baggage nearly bursting with clothes, along with another for required accessories, I zip everything up and drop them by the front door. After checking the front door's deadbolts if they're fully secure, I shut my bedroom door and approach the bed with a wide yawn.

With all that packing done in less than twenty minutes, it feels I'm already ready to go. Just the last minute items is all I'll gather in the morning before leaving and everything will be golden.

Staring at the mundane ceiling overlooking me from my bed, I think more about tomorrow. As much as I am enthralled to go, I wonder if I am doing the right thing. Will it be rational to join an expedition with a pack of strangers I don't know, only to satisfy the love of an individual and to prove my equipment are capable of fulfilling the task I'll be assigned to?

Rolling flat on my stomach, I reach for the alarm clock to set it for six A.M. and flip off the lamp to finally let it cool down. I lower my head on the edge of the pillow and prepare myself for a possibly restless night. I despise it when I can't sleep on nights before forced to wake up early for an event, even if they will be full of anticipation.


	4. Chapter 3

My eyes wearily slide open to bright green numbers shining into my retinas from the alarm clock. I growl with annoyance in my sleep, realizing I have ten minutes left until the alarm goes off. I guess that's better than oversleeping and then scrambling desperately to still be on schedule, but I despise it nonetheless.

Gradually feeling more awake than tired, I decide to just get up and begin my morning regimen early. I snap my tender eyes shut tightly and bury my face into the pillow before blindly reaching for the lamp.

While waiting to adjust to the new light that's flooded the bedroom, my brain returns to the enthusiasm of today's adventure approaching in merely a couple hours. I submerge so deep into the daydream, I don't notice the flow of time ticking away until the alarm does go off, playing in the middle of a song I instantly recognize as one of my moderately favorites.

I finally ascend from my pillow, and with eyes barely open at slits, I plant both feet on the shaggy carpet. Waddling sleepily like a zombie, I stroll to the bathroom for the usual business, half-alert to stay in the clear path curbed by the scattered computer parts.

* * *

Back in my bedroom moments later, I approach the window and peek out through the curtains. It's still night, with distant stars painted on the indigo dome as the only speckles of light; even the moon isn't out. The eastern horizon, however, is lit with a dull gradient of colors like an autumn leaf changing. A hoarse moan of approval resonates deep within my chest, knowing I got up before the sun did this time.

I turn the radio off after it switches to a less favorable song and falter to the kitchen. The idea of hot cereal and eggs sounds quite scrumptious, which should be enough to keep me up for at least a couple hours.

While getting the preparations ready, I flare up the gas stoves underneath the arranged skillets. Keeping the fires down lowest for the time being, I resume the remainder of my packing, including food provisions. I know those crackers won't suffice enough for the entire ride.

After stuffing one more water bottle into the nearly-bursting lunch kit, I tuck the crackers into its side pockets and zip it up. Placing the kit on top of the other luggage, an idea hits me like a flying baseball at full agility. My limbs obediently rise me to full height and I enter the bedroom, unclear of what's really going on.

Pulling open the first drawer to my nightstand by the bed, a euphony of bells chime lively in my head like somebody just got married.

"Oh, my T-Laser!" I spout as memories flood back.

Picking up the minuscule device from the bottom chasm of the drawer, I remove it from its pouch for a better remembrance.

This so-called T-Laser was originally a thumb drive, which I'm shocked to see they still exist because I haven't seen them in forever. Unlike my latest invention, this is a combination of actual electronics into one package. It doesn't have a universal serial bus port for sticking into computers but instead two sturdy buttons are embedded on its surface for separate abilities. I named it the T-Laser since it functions as both a laser pointer and a taser, although the taser part works a little differently than those guns.

To be honest, this was my very first creation that was completed a month prior to my camera system. I never presented to the public, however, because I had doubts from the beginning it would bode well with other people, even if my purpose for bestowing them security is equivalent. After I performed its final testing, I stored it inside the drawer and haven't looked upon it since. Now my instincts are recommending it will come in handy during the trip. Fine, I'll take it, but only because we both need to get out more often to enrich our boring lives.

Tucking it back in its pouch, I leave it on top of the steel case so I won't forget it.

* * *

With final morsels of breakfast frolicking in my mouth, I leave my table for the typical routine with the dishes. Setting them carefully on the drying rack, I stare at them calmly with a minor shiver of concern. Unsure how long I will be gone on this excursion, I can sparsely expect no more than a week or two depending on how well we progress.

Now that everything is ready to go by the door, all that's left is me. Before reaching the threshold of my bedroom, the phone from the living room begins to ring, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"Who'd be calling me at this hour?" I ask bewildered, as the old nostalgic ring echoes the entire flat.

I trot to a small silver panel on the wall by the large TV with the standard number pad and several buttons. Wrapping the wireless headset around my skull, I press the "Answer" button.

"Y'ello?" I reply in a darling girl's tone.

_"Good morning, Andrea! Hope I didn't wake you up!"_ a bright male voice chirps.

I am suddenly struck with the confusion as to how this stranger knows my name straightaway. Then reminiscing the familiar pitch in his voice, my jaw drops.

"Wait a minute…William, is that you?" I ask, surprised.

_"Of course!"_

"Wait, how did you get my number?"

_"Why, the name stamp on your case. As I recall, it has both your name and phone number on it."_

"Uh uh, I don't have a name stamp," I retort.

Making sure of myself, I walk to the steel case. Towards the bottom-right of it, there's a white sticker.

"Ohhh…" I groan, covering my face in humiliation.

_"What?"_ William disturbs our awkward peace with a sense of pride.

"Ugh, you were right," I grumble through my hand, then retreat it to my side. "I do have a name stamp on the case and I simply forgot. Before you mentioned it, I was astonished you were able to call me out of the blue like this."

_"Well, sorry for poking my nose into your business while you weren't looking. While you were succumbed into one of your thoughts last night, I noticed the information on the case and jotted everything down. Hope you don't mind."_

"Oh, it's alright, William. I have no problem with you calling me," I reassure kindly.

_"Hmm, I had a feeling you didn't,"_ he mutters cunningly.

My body shudders at the sound of that, causing the hairs on my skin to poke straight up as if I've suddenly grown cold.

_"So, will you be coming?"_ he asks.

"I thought more on it last night after you left, and concluded the opportunity would be too great to pass up. In fact, I'm already packed and nearly ready to scoot out."

_"Heh, I knew you wouldn't let me down and that's fantastic, Andrea,"_ he comments warmly. _"Since it will take hours to reach our destination, one of my team members will arrange an igloo cooler for us to store our cold perishables in, so be sure to bring your own provisions."_

"No worries, I have a kit filled with food for the ride," I confirm. "How long will it take to get there precisely?"

_"If there aren't any predicaments like harsh weather and we don't take flight breaks too frequently, we should arrive at the station by dusk tonight. There's honestly no need to rush,"_ he replies.

"Oh, I'm not impatient. Just curious," I quickly note.

_"Well, I won't keep you on for much longer, especially if you have any last-minute chores to do before heading out the door. I have to contact the others to see what they're up to anyway, whether they'll arrive on time and whatnot."_

"I do appreciate you checking up on me. So, I shall see you in a little while?"

_"It's a date, Andrea,"_ he answers in his usual smug tone. _"Ciao for now."_

"Bye-bye, William," I bid my farewell.

As the other line hangs up then falls dead silent, I remove the headset and return it to the small hook above the phone panel. A smile spreads gallantly across cheeks and I sigh with an affection too tempting to resist. Just hearing his voice alone stimulated my morning, like listening to a bird sing its gorgeous song to the world. Speaking of which, there's a cardinal cheeping excitably outside my back porch. Stopping in front of the sliding door without accidentally scaring it off, I notice the sky is now a gradient-mixture of purple, red, orange, and gold. Early morning sun rays zap through the thin clouds that span extensively across the low horizon, giving them an orange-red hue like they're on fire.

Remembering my previous task before the phone rang, I head to the bedroom, hopefully for the last time this morning.

* * *

All dressed in my casual style of jeans and a shirt, I still have time to spare. Inspecting every inch of the apartment, I turn off most electrical appliances and switch off any surge protectors that are easily within reach.

Content that everything will now be dandy during my absence, I return to my gear and slip both the T-Laser and the camera gadget inside individual pockets of my jeans. Flying the front door wide open, I lay my baggage against the other side of the wall outside, careful to not create too much noise to disturb my snoozing neighbors. I shoot one more glimpse at my apartment before locking up behind me.

* * *

I decide to pay a short visit to the main office of the entire apartment complex. Informing the owners I'll be gone on a mission for possibly a week or so, they politely ask me for my key and promise they'll assign a security guard to check on my flat daily. I immediately flinch with the unpleasant reminder that our veteran guard retired months ago and the others haven't worked as diligently. I ask them if I could have the most reliable guard on duty, which they heartily oblige by mentioning one's name who I know is the most decent.

That's what I admire about this complex, which is quite skeptical to believe. Unlike others I used to live in, this one is a real jewel, since these owners respect us dearly like we're all family.

Giving them my amiable goodbye, I exit the office with their parting words of encouragement for me and my trip.

* * *

Pressing my knuckles against the infrared panel, my garage door rolls upward, slowly revealing my dream car. Standing in the center with my things, I cross my arms with a sly grin planted on my countenance. Every day, I wonder how I manage to own such a rare car that's worth a ton of loose damage, but it's here. The stainless steel DeLorean returns the stare, itching to go with an elevating vigor.

Lifting open its passenger door, I pack my gear on the seat with the steel case and lunch kit on top. After shutting the door with a strong heave, I enter the car from the other side, careful to not bump my head against the levitated door. Before revving it up, I gaze at the dashboard blankly with a sense of guilt rising, knowing that the DeLorean will end up in another garage or parking lot during my extended absence. With a sigh, I turn the ignition and the car roars ferociously followed by a lingering growl like a famished tiger. It prowls out of the garage slowly as if it's spotted its prey, and I press on the gas once it's fully free of its cage. I watch the garage door through the rear view mirror automatically close behind me, before disappearing from view as I turn out of the complex.

* * *

With thankfully only two short lights to stop at, I arrive on the freeway in a pinch. Amazingly, there's almost nobody around this morning except for a few sparse vehicles. I reminisce the numerous drives to the university campus and being caught in morning rush hour every time, leaving me overly relieve I don't have to deal with these snags much anymore. Using the guidance of my mirrors and repeatedly checking on my blind spots, I sneak to one of the center lanes and cruise at a stable pace. With plenty of minutes on the clock, I won't be worried about running late especially if the traffic is this light.

As music voluntarily plays on the radio to keep me awake behind the wheel, I rubberneck each passing building and road sign with minor intrigue. Then my wandering eyes spot a black car appearing from the short feeder I just sped past. I curiously watch the sleek Mercedes through my mirrors as it engages lanes behind me, eventually pulling up on my side. I throw a brief focus on the road, then back at the car as it moves closer in my side view mirror. Finding the courage to peek at the driver directly through the windshield, my heart flips inside my chest like an energetic dog.

"No way…William?" I spout loudly over the music.

Out of increasing shyness for a familiar face, I shoot my attention back in front, pretending to not notice. The car's hood sneaks up on my blind spot and remains at my speed for a prolonged minute. Gritting my teeth hard as if about to shatter them, I breath steadily to keep myself calm. Then, curious if my side vision is toying with me at the moment, the Mercedes slows down and disappears from the blind spot, forcing me to glance through the side mirror again. It eventually ends up right behind me in the same lane about several car lengths away.

"He must have seen me," I vocally assume the obvious, gawking through the rear view mirror.

As the car's LED headlights blind me through the mirror, I'm unable to decipher whether it really is William, since my scattered vision could have easily molded a complete stranger into him to deceive my brain. Yet, if this driver's pursuing me, we're probably heading for the same destination together. I bet he's also astonished that I'm driving a famous car.

Pride slowly consumes my anxiety, helping me to feel more uplifted about the situation.

"Sure, I won't mind leading the way," I say coolly.

Only concern now is somehow screwing up on something and fooling the heck out of myself.

I conveniently switch to one of my custom-made music CD's already inside the player and prepare one of my most favorite songs for an endless loop. As it begins to blare away through the speakers and with my fingers tapping on the steering wheel in rhythm, I concentrate back on the road while giving the Mercedes the occasional smirk.

* * *

I arrive at the helicopter hangar with the black car still trailing me closely. Crawling to the security gate, I open my door and let it reach for the sky like an ascended wing ready for takeoff. The guard trapped in his crammed outpost seems stoked about my slick presentation. What can I say? It's hard to not show off in this car. As I'm paying for my parking ticket, we both spark up the conversation about DeLoreans in general and his son's dream of owning one someday after watching that movie series innumerable times.

"I discovered that dreams, even those barely peeking over the horizon, are nothing more than fulfilling achievements up for grabs. Once you've found the foolproof inspiration, you'll do anything to keep a strong hold of it and not let go. That's how I bought my car and I'm not a rich person either. Since your son has his heart set on having a DeLorean in the future, he should receive all the support possible to keep his dream alive until it finally arrives," I explain, ending the long discussion with a humble smile.

The guard nods in agreement and promises to give his son more encouragement. After handing me my ticket, the striped arm raises and we wave our goodbyes as I proceed forth. Before entering the garage, I peek through the rear view mirror again to observe the Mercedes cruise to where I was seconds ago. Then the driver's side door flies open.

"Oh, his car has gull-wing doors, too?" I ask, slightly surprised.

With a girlish chortle, I close the door over me.

* * *

Within a couple minutes of searching, I finally find my ticket's matching number painted on the designated parking spot. With a nimble idea of backing into it, I position myself as straight with it as possible without colliding into any stationary cars or concrete structures. Before switching gears to reverse, the Mercedes reappears from a turn, slowing to a calm stop in front of me. Still unable to fully confirm the driver due to the glaring headlights, I can at least distinguish his lips parting into a smile and him presenting me with a victory hand gesture. I respond back with a darling hand wave.

Opening my door, I lean out towards the rear to ensure I won't accidentally crash into the wall while backing into the spot. Once satisfied with my position and certain my hood is not sticking out too far, I shift the car into park and turn off the engine. The invigorating energy inside the DeLorean dies down with a furious sputter as I yank the key out, like it's grown frustrated with me and refuses to talk anymore. Meanwhile, the Mercedes rolls again, turning into the next spot beside me. As I have already stumbled out of my car, the driver opens his door and steps out. As soon as our eyes meet, my affection jumps for joy like a hyperactive child.

"Wow, Andrea, I didn't expect to see you in a DeLorean!"

These were the first words I actually expected William to greet me with. I giggle again and sigh.

"Well, good morning to you, too, William," I say softly.

Mindless of where I was going, I smack my forehead against the DeLorean's ascended door.

"Ow!" I expel in pain, as the car recoils from my collision.

As I vigorously massage the afflicted spot to ease the pain, I glance at William and notice the familiar concern regarding my misfortune. Instead of blushing, however, I laugh away. This, along with the previous howl still in effect, resonates off the hollow walls like tennis balls, gradually losing volume with each bouncing echo.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Pfft, I'm fine, don't worry!" I exclaim cheerfully, patting on the door. "That's the tough love between an owner and their DeLorean sometimes when not careful enough."

Rather than resume the unpleasant glare like from last night, he scoffs and nods in positive reaction. Undoubtedly, he knows that experience since his car opens identically to mine.

He watches me calmly as I close my door and lock it with the turn of the key. Circling around the hood to the passenger's side, I don't hesitate to give him a grin as I glide past. I heave my gear beside the front tire the repeat the process of locking up on this side, tugging on the handle to ensure it's secured.

"Well, I'm ecstatic you decided to come, Andrea. That bit of good news brightened my morning today," he comments tranquilly.

"Likewise. Still, how could I decline? It sounded like a great excuse to be part of an adventure and to get out of that dreary apartment of mine," I say.

"You know this is not a vacation, right? We can still enjoy ourselves but nevertheless, this is an important mission," he kindly reminds me.

"Oh, I know. Don't ruin my fun," I counter.

He chuckles in monotone and winks at me.

This time, I observe him as he opens his truck to unload his belongings. After slamming it shut with help from gravity, he locks up his Mercedes with the push of a button, which makes it blare a whimsical "beep!" in response.

Before stuffing my hands with my own stuff, I stroke the edge of the DeLorean's hood broadly like it's an animal.

"Hang in there, buddy. I'll see you here when I return," I coax it.

William and I desert our cars and we exit the garage together, eventually striding out in the middle of a vast area surrounded by helicopter hangars. There's quite a variety of choppers here, from the fatter ones for lifting heavy cargo to the more colorful birds for different news stations. I can tell I'm receiving too much eye candy, because now I'm tempted to meander off and inspect these birds closer. Across the way from us, a group of people huddle near a large, red helicopter.

"Ah, excellent. They all made it in time," William chirps pleasantly.

His voice diverts my attention from the other choppers. He looks at me and grins.

"These are the professionals who I hired for the expedition. When I told them about you after our conversation on the phone, they were enchanted to meet you," he says.

I hum with interest, sensing both excitement and anxiety for actually meeting them. I can only hope my shy nature won't agitate someone.

As we're closing in on the small crowd, a flight attendant walks to the helicopter and unlocks it. After sliding it wide open, he backs away and watches submissively as the passengers step inside one-by-one. Once the final person finds both feet inside, William gives me another devious stare.

"Ahem, ladies first," he suggests devilishly with a gesture.

With a sarcastic scoff, I proceed by tossing my luggage onto the edge of the bird and entering myself, with him following shortly behind.

It seems that everyone has already settled down in their chairs, with their gear either cramming the aisle or towards the rear of the helicopter. There's also the igloo cooler, as noted, lying between the final row of seats. It actually looks more like a miniature fridge resting on its back. There's neither an extension cord snaking out from it nor any outlets anywhere near it, yet it's running accordingly as indicated by the tiny lights flashing intermittently on its side. Currently, one of the team members is instructing others where to pack in their cold foods and drinks into either compartment. Since I really have nothing that will easily perish, I'm fine with leaving my snacks with me.

While scanning the helicopter, I find a pair of conjoined seats across the way that has yet to be claimed. I throw my luggage on the seat closest to the wall, with my case and lunch kit once again conquering the peak of the pile. Sinking my butt into the other chair, I exhale a relishing sigh and clip on my seat belt out of habit. Gazing around from my new spot, I notice William standing by the narrow aisle to the cockpit, staring peacefully at me with hardly any regard for anything else.

Has he honestly been observing me since we entered the helicopter? Feeling less bothered by the center of recognition, I phase out as an interesting thought fills my mind, with eyes blinking lazily. Behind me, the buzzing of conversation from the team harmonizes like a supporting choir.

Moments later, one more person enters the chopper and closes the door behind him. Throwing brief glances at everyone, he walks past William into the cockpit. So, it's essentially obvious he will be our pilot for the ride, and probably will have other duties to attend once we arrive at the station. His uniform consists of a white, short-sleeved shirt with a quaint black tie and slacks to complete the casual appearance. His blonde hair protrudes in a suave perm, with ends reaching halfway down his neck and bangs draped over his ears. Now, I'm starting to grow fond of this man, and it may be I have a personal liking for men with even slightly lengthy hair. To me, it makes them more adorable. Nevertheless, William will remain number one in my books, as the revelation of his name earned him the spot.

With the entire party on board, William finally takes his eyes off me and raises his hand in the air for everyone's attention. The babbling gradually dies down and the group eagerly hold their breaths for what he has to say.

"Alright, team! Just want to thank you all for coming on this excursion. Without further adieu, let's rock n' roll!" he enunciates in high spirits.

Both cheering and clapping explode into coordination after his short speech, like at the end of a great song during a music concert. Baring a wider smile, I turn over my shoulder towards everyone else.

William enters the cockpit and shoves his gear behind the only unoccupied chair across the aisle from the pilot's. As he settles down, the pilot looks over his shoulder and then tacitly whispers something to him. As I rotate back in front, I spot the both of them leering right at me with a cunning sneer of their own. With a high-pitch squeak like a timid mouse, I toss my head towards the window over my luggage while nibbling nervously on my bottom lip.

Gosh, why is it they have to simultaneously startle me like that, especially when one has proven more than enough? Rolling my eyes at the reaction, I resume my empty gaze into space while ignoring their cocky chuckles.

Finally, the pilot starts up the helicopter and we slowly lift from the ground. The environment outside our windows gradually emerge from hangars and parked helicopters to the tops of radio antennas and trees below the morning sky.

Greenland, here we come!


	5. Chapter 4

A raspy laughter followed by a harsh rhythm of coughing causes me to stir from my nap. As my heavy eyelids slide open like a pair of camera shutters, I quickly recall being inside the helicopter with a handful of strangers I've yet to meet personally. My sleepy hourglass unfortunately smothered me in enough of its fine sand to knock me out for however long, snoozing away like a lazy vegetable sulking in the sun. I could have done something else to pass the time, like converse with these people, but sleep and comfort is one effective combination.

Straightening out on my chair, I stretch out my limbs to relieve the stiffness developed during my rest and relish every second of it. Curiously looking around the compartment while growing more conscious, first thing I spot right off the bat is William inside the cockpit, currently looking away. Suspicion fills to the brim as I imagine him examining me occasionally while I was dormant, passing a few remarks of my perspective to the pilot on the more adorable side of things. Just another excuse for a round of chortles, I suppose.

Truly, there's something about the both of them that's added to my infatuation; in fact, their first impact on me was similar, like two arrows each sharing the same dead center of the target without hindrance. When the pilot stumbled in here, I got struck with an involuntary inkling to fall quiet if I was in the middle of a conversation. Once I'll learn his name, it will be déjà vu all over. Now that I think of it, I wonder what might've happened if he was in place of William at the conventions yesterday. In that scenario, the result would have likely landed with me identically, where this time I might've fallen in love with him firsthand instead. One thing is definite, nevertheless: I will be experiencing loads of fun with them throughout our mission, whatever that might be.

Other than that obvious, I discover the skies zipping past our windows are no longer the same elegant morning rise from when we took off but rather a dismal silver-gray dome, like we're wrapped in a thick blanket. Oblivious of the time, I can guess we're not too much farther.

Gosh, how long was I really out for? Have I fallen into a deep enough slumber, despite the constant flow of chitchat from the teamsters and the helicopter's roaring engine above our heads, for it to endure several hours? Either the trip's not taking as long as we predicted or the pilot is making great time.

While continuing to gaze around, I notice something from my pile of luggage is missing: the steel case. Worried we might have a disrespectful thief in disguise, I hear a shuffle to my left. Across the aisle, I find it right away. A team member is browsing through my cameras gingerly. I smile at the awe embedded on his dark countenance, knowing how fascinated he is by my electronics. Then I flinch at the uneasy reminder of the gun inside, as I always hope newcomers who notice it won't freak out. As he softly closes the lid, he steers in my direction and gasps softly, realizing I'm now awake.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for taking your case. I should've asked but I didn't want to disturb you," he sympathizes with guilt.

"No need to apologize, sir. Sure, I was a tad nervous when I found the case was missing but not anymore," I coax him, still smiling.

Heeding my tranquil tone, he relaxes and sighs. Behind him, two more men drift from their prevailing conversation to focus more on ours.

"Although, I do want to warn you that the gun you might've noticed at the bottom of the case is not an actual firearm," I mention.

"I know it's not," he swiftly confirms. "When I first noticed it, I thought it looked a tad strange to be a regular pistol and inspected it closer to make sure. Besides, if it was packed in neatly with your other machinery, there's a viable explanation behind it."

"Thank you very much for understanding. I always get worried when people take a first glimpse at it," I acknowledge.

"Well, I'm relieved you're not annoyed that I borrowed your equipment while you were asleep. Again, I didn't want to wake you up just for a brief question."

"I would not have minded either way," I wink at him.

"Did you design these yourself, by the way? I assume they are supposed to be…cameras?" he asks curiously.

"Yes and yes. That's my latest invention," I respond dutifully.

I pull the camera device from my pocket and hold it out for him to take. He hesitates at first, even if it's an offer from me, before finally accepting it.

"What you have now is the 'master brain' behind the cameras. It broadcasts anything they perceive as long as they're active," I explain.

"This is…astounding," he murmurs as he fiddles with the controls, careful to not press any unintended buttons or icons.

The men rise from their seats and lean in closer for a better observation.

"Wow," I mumble in minor surprise. "I feel like I'm back at the conventions today, presenting in front of a brand new crowd. Actually, that was my original plan if I wasn't picked for this expedition."

One of the duo closer to the aisle leans in closer towards me.

"You've been resting for quite some time. How do you feel now?" he asks.

"I'm quite refreshed, thanks for asking. Sorry if I posed as the Sleeping Beauty throughout our flight. I'm just not a morning person whatsoever," I reply, gritting my teeth feebly.

"Don't feel too bad about. If your body needed the rest, rest. You should always obey what it requests," he recommends with a considerate grin.

Judging from how this man is inquisitive about my health, I can predict he's some kind of doctor, although more like a casual family doctor.

"What's your name? Never seen your cute face before," the third man beside the doctor asks.

I quirk an eyebrow at his friendly sentiment and giggle. Perhaps he has a thing for me.

"I'm Andrea Blu. Pleased to meet all of you," I say, placing a palm flat against my chest. "My cameras are the reason why I was included to your team."

* * *

With no service door to enclose the cockpit from the rest of the helicopter, William and the pilot have soundlessly been eavesdropping on every word of the discussion since it arose.

"That's not the only reason you invited her, isn't it?" the pilot asks.

"Nah, not entirely," William coolly replies. "She knows it, too, but she's too modest to admit it."

As the two exchange devious sneers, their low, monotonous chuckles harmonize from deep within their larynx in response. Then static reception emits from the pilot's headphones, fully grabbing his attention as he listens closely with murmurs of incomprehensible words. With nothing else to say between them, William looks over his shoulder and watches his team passively.

* * *

"Hey, if you're here, it's only sensible logic, right?" the third man comments in a hearty tone. "I say, it's such a pleasure to meet such a lovely young lady like yourself, and you'll have no problem fitting it with the rest of us. We all can eccentric at our own levels."

"Easy for you to say," the doctor growls.

"May I ask what your names are?" I ask kindly, clapping my hands together lightly. "Ever since I saw you guys before we entered the chopper, I was enthusiastic to get acquainted with you."

The third man was about to visibly pipe in when he's intruded by the one with my case.

"I am Owen Carter, and it's my duty to investigate any paranormal activities we may encounter during our stay in 'Mary'," he says.

Owen has a smoothly shaven head with a well-groomed mustache and beard surrounding his lips. His three-piece suit is all as black as oil, including the shirt underneath. The attire makes his dark complexion seem brighter than it is. Studying the whole picture in view, he seems more like some undercover cop than a paranormal investigator.

The doctor clears his throat loudly, like this is some formal interview.

"Charles Benson's the name. I was the Mayfield's family doctor for decades," he announces.

Charles could be the eldest member on the team, according to his graying soft-brown hair and a rough beard covering his aged countenance. His small, round belly sticks out from between his worn puce jacket, causing the apple-green shirt to bulge over his plain gray slacks.

"And this is Ben Green," Charles points at his cohort beside him. "As you can clearly depict, he is much a green freak but he manages to act normal."

"Gee, thanks!" Ben retorts sourly.

A snort of laughter unexpectedly bursts out of my nostrils. When he looks back at me, I gulp and gawk with guilt, worried I may have offended him. Instead, he grins warmly without a sense of annoyance for my immature sound.

"I am here mainly for my theory regarding apparitions in general, but I'm also a botanist. It explains why I'm wearing a tree, right?" he asks, shooting a dirty glare at Charles.

No joke, Ben is wearing nothing but various shades of green; in fact, the pants themselves look to be made out of some kind of plant, probably hemp. I've never actually witnessed hemp plants in real life before, just in a very old Simpsons cartoon. They don't appear very comfortable though. A pair of large bifocals rest on his rugged nose over his round face, magnifying his eyes to almost twice their regular size. Despite the youth on his face, the bed of hair covering his head is dark-gray with a trace of brown from their roots.

"Again, such an honor to meet you all," I say sincerely. "I will admit, I'm proud of myself for not messing up on my words so far. I am not used to communicating with other people so it arouses quite a problem for me."

"Really, Andrea? You're forming sentences just fine," Ben mentions. "So, how did this invention of yours promote you the position?"

"Well, I barely obtain any knowledge on supernatural beings. Only speculation is William has a strong hunch my cameras can detect these spirits," I answer.

"Is that so?" Owen replies skeptically. "Well, since I know little else about them aside from my little browsing, I won't jump to conclusions. It does sound as if you're onto something though."

He conveniently hands the case back along with the device on top. After shoving the gadget in my pocket first, I take the case and return it to the pile, unconcerned about whether everything is still inside. Rotating back towards Owen, my shifting sight catches the cockpit and William's gaze fixed right at me. I freeze with anxiety, like a cornered animal wondering what he might do next as I return the stare. Then restraining myself from the awkward trance, I focus on Owen with the new awareness of being watched.

"Heh, I will have to perform a demonstration to prove how they'll function someday, Owen. Believe me, they give results," I suggest, winking.

"You're such a sweet person, Andrea," Ben compliments.

"With a sense of humor, too, I suppose. That's what definitely brightened William's mood during our conference last night, although I'm not always one to crack jokes. Sometimes, I'll brew up a pun at the right time and receive some good points," I note, throwing a smirk at the cockpit.

Rising inches from my chair, I brace a leg under my resting body and twist my torso for a better view of the other team members. Since my conversation with Owen had officially ended after he returned my case, Charles has descended back into his chair. Ben, on the other hand, remains up and observes me.

"You eager to learn about the rest of us?" he asks, in a tone that hopes I say 'yes'.

Aiming into his eyes, I smile and nod. Releasing myself from the unsettling position, I plant all weight onto my feet. Ben squeezes past Charles and lines up beside me, cupping a hand onto my shoulder. Wow, talk about being a string bean. As I only bear a woman's average height, Ben dwarfs me by at least a foot. His affection for me has made me feel like the most popular person in the chopper, like I've been nominated for class president due to my new fame. I actually don't mind the way he's warming up to me.

"In that case, allow me to introduce them to you. We've known each other for at least some time, but you won't be an outsider for very long," he blabs away merrily.

He directs our attention to two more men sitting next to each other at the rear of the compartment.

"With the fire-red hair, mustache, and thin beard is our four-star chef, Watson Dustove. He has whipped up some delectable recipes that I've indulged enough to never skip seconds. He knows how to satisfy our hunger with such reward," he rubs his stomach before continuing. "Beside him is Doctor Chin Sung Lee. He, as well as I, holds his own beliefs regarding the behavior immortals react in our world," he whispers into my ear at the final sentence.

Okay, I may have to take back what I presumed that Charles was the elderly. With most of Chin's hair silver-gray and his pale, wrinkled face covered with a slightly darker beard, he appears even older than Charles. He also poses as a mentor who teaches meditation or even yoga if his feeble body can handle it.

"Lastly, across the aisle from them is Lisa McIntyre. She is a strange cookie but she knows her stuff well," Ben concludes.

Such a relief to know I am not the only female on board. Actually, that would've been the case for Lisa unless there was another woman in my place.

Unlike my hair, which is straight and dirty blonde, hers is really frazzled out and naturally yellow. Honestly, I wonder how much spray she uses to keep it like that, since I never cared about creating a serious concoction with mine. Also, talk about wearing fancy jewelry and golden bands around her wrists, as well as a dress teeming with erotic colors. She definitely defines a gypsy or a fortune teller in this picture, and that may be why she's here. She can probably feel it in her intuition whenever ghosts are stalking nearby, which of course is the complete opposite of what I'm capable of with only my equipment to rely on.

A grin spreads wide on my already glowing face, thankful that Ben was kind enough to give me the ropes of everyone else here. Silently, I study each head, trying to slip correct names on them like it's a mix-and-match quiz. I don't want to humiliate myself by accidentally switching names or dreaming up of something completely absurd because I temporarily forgot. The closest resemblance is Ben and Benson, although one's a first name and the other a last. Then my mind sweeps across the vision of the pilot, realizing Ben is missing someone.

"Um, who is our pilot?" I ask him softly.

"That's Frank Bates," Charles suddenly barges in.

Aware he responded, I dart my eyes on him. Ben heaves a sharp exhale of frustration, not at all pleased about another rude interruption.

"I know him very well, as a matter of fact," he resumes. "He and William were the best of friends since elementary school, close to brothers. You wouldn't believe how often young Mayfield spoke of Bates during his regular doctor appointments." He grins into a blank space, likely shaping those old memories into an animating slideshow of flicks.

"Sigh, I sure wish I had life-long friends like that," I admit sadly. "My isolation due to my timid nature has deterred me from developing even a possible relationship with a boy."

"Nobody asked you to be their friend?" Ben asks, slightly surprised.

"No, but don't worry about it too much. Honestly, I was okay with it, since I was able to work out team projects on my own sufficiently."

"You're too nice to not have any though."

As much as I appreciate his more amicable words, I'm still doubtful.

"If you ask me, Ben, we should've met sooner on that perspective," I note amusingly.

He roars into a broad laughter and pats on my shoulder rather forcefully, causing my knees to buckle from the encounter.

"However…" I mutter quietly, rising on my tiptoes to get close to his ears; he bends down slightly.

"I think…William likes me a lot," I reveal, briefly peeking over my other shoulder. "He admitted it was my nature that he adores the most. I'm just satisfied he's not agitated by anything childish I may have imposed."

"Hmm, sounds like another reason why he hired you, huh?" he says calmly, leading me to wonder if he's a little bummed or just content. "Anyway, that's everyone here. You will become more acquainted with us once we arrive at the station. I'll even show you my greenhouse if you're interested."

"Sure, Ben, who could pass up the lovely invitation? You might even have a few plants I never knew existed before," I reply happily.

He lands another compelling pat as if I've achieved some good act and being rewarded graciously for it. He carefully squeezes past Charles again and lifts a compact potted plant that previously occupied the chair in his short absence. Once he's seated down, he sets the pot on his lap. I have not visited his greenhouse yet and this little flora is a small serving of icing on the cake. I'm enthralled to see what else he has at 'Mary'.

Instead of returning to my chair after Ben has fully relaxed, I continue to survey each head until I'm filled with enough confidence to remember everyone properly.

"Okay, so that just leaves…" I mutter, turning towards the cockpit. "Frank Bates. Alright, I think I got it," I nod steadily, followed by a shudder of finally knowing the pilot's name.

Noticing that William still has his eyes on me like a hawk, I place fists against my hips and wink at him; his devil's sneer reappears as I start to lower back onto my chair.

Suddenly, a violent thrashing disturbs the helicopter, shutting everyone up from their peaceful chatters. I get thrown down to my chair like someone has given me a strong push.

"Augh!" I shriek in pain. The chair creates a loud noise from my abrupt added weight, like I may have broken something inside.

Concerned heads spin at all directions of the compartment, even peeking through the windows. William stops looking at me to figure out what's going on, too.

Was that a nasty turbulence rocking us about…or worse?


	6. Chapter 5

I spend the next couple minutes paralyzed in the agonizing pain from that very rough landing onto my chair. Wincing feebly, I massage my butt out of sight of meandering eyes to relieve the hurt as I can.

"Oh…I'm in utter hell," I groan.

Pressing my fingers deeper into my flesh, I inspect the structure of my hips. The pain is so intense, it's likely I fractured something, but at the same time on a higher level, I suspect not.

Noticing the lively action outside my window, I struggle to bend forward with more pitiful moans for a closer look. Shards of snow and ice glide past at blinding agility, making it impossible to see even the opaque cloud cover anymore. We must be caught in the middle of a harsh blizzard, which would justify the series of intermittent disturbances we started to encounter after that larger one.

"You okay, Andrea?" Charles asks, obviously concerned after hearing my whimpers of pain.

No longer interested in the outside activity, I slowly sink back into my chair and turn towards him.

"Ugh, yeah, I will be, I think," I mutter, still caressing my rear. "Just a harder punishment on my coccyx than I would have liked though."

Voices of distressed passengers resonate around the compartment, more curious of what's now happening over their previous subjects. Suddenly, William storms out of the cockpit in sheer horror.

"Bad news, Frank just passed out on the stick! We need somebody who can volunteer to take over and fly this thing, quick!" he yells.

Heads automatically spin at one another in similar terror as they already predict it could be the end for us. They hope in desperation one of their brethren will bravely rise and attempt to tackle this daring situation. Unfortunately, no one seems skilled enough to handle helicopters, much less in this condition. As the bird continues to flail about like a feral bull, more panic ensues.

I glance over my chair at everyone, showing a more peaceful silence like there's nothing overly jeopardizing to worry about, yet I'm just as frightened as the next person. I also don't know how to fly, not in real life anyway; my experience flying helicopters in video games is quite diverse as it mainly involved maneuvering with a keyboard on various difficulties. As I instantly dive into some serious brainstorming, my eyes aim at William who's still frozen in the narrow passage. Indeed, he's turned a ghostly white and his eyes remain fixated on us, like he's transformed into a lifeless mannequin with an infinite stare into nothing.

Since nobody has even the slightest bravery to step forward, the only way we will ever escape this disaster alive is if Frank is somehow revived. Heaving a long sigh as if in defeat, my palm lightly brushes against one of my pockets, and immediately, the brightest bulb teems with life. I hastily dig into the pocket to unveil my T-Laser.

Of course, the voltage contained in this sucker should be enough to wake him up. Yet…I cannot fully recall everything about it, since it's been months when I performed my final test on it and haven't touched it in the duration of designing my cameras. I am more aware of the basics, like how the first button activates the laser pointer while the second is for the taser. If the second button is pressed beforehand, however, the first button's function temporarily changes as part of the taser, too.

The longer I stare at the device, the sooner second thoughts start to stick, making me feel less encouraged about this plan working. The biggest dilemma is I can't recall how big of a punch this T-Laser can pack, as I'm only interested in recovering Frank from his unexpected slumber, not put him into a deeper coma.

Darn it, why am I thinking of backing off like this? What other choices do I currently have? Despite it sounding crazy, it's the best idea ready for serving, and I can't just sit here and do nothing like these other bumbling passengers are in the fear that's possessed them. My instincts believed my T-Laser will help out exceptionally during this excursion and this may be the first opportunity for it to shine. I rarely put much loyalty into it and this is one scenario where I must at least try, like my effort in selling my cameras yesterday.

"Sigh…can I rely on you, old friend?" I murmur to it, landing a soft kiss on it for good luck.

With the new courage coursing through my otherwise tense veins, I pull the device out of its pouch and slip the pouch back in my pocket. Inhaling deep breaths for the necessary fuel, I carefully levitate to my feet while enduring the pain still lingering in my butt. People's eyes instantly dart right at me, like I have committed a wrong act that demands the involuntary gawking.

"You…you know how to fly?!" William asks me frantically in disbelief.

Cruising to a stop in front of him, I present him with a solemn countenance, unshaken by the lack of ambition.

"No," I answer, surprisingly very calm. "I do, however, have another idea I think will help restore Frank. If no one else is going to step forward, what other options are there? To let the inevitable perform in full?"

Throwing brief glances at the crowd once more, I cross my fingers in the much needed luck for this and scoot past William in the cockpit. He and the others observe my every move in baffling silence.

My eyebrows quirk in suspicion at the dormant Frank resting his skull uncomfortably against the stick, his headset barely being held by the cups of his ears. How he got knocked out in the middle of all this is beyond me; if we get out of this, I'll ask him later.

As I ready the T-Laser, the helicopter recoils from another turbulence, creating almost unified shrieks from the compartment and stressed whines from its engine. I nearly lose both my balance and my grip of the device. My free hand reaches for an overhead steel bar and my leg wraps around a vertical one behind the pilot's seat for aided support, in case of another flailing. Gazing out at the humongous windshield momentarily, there's absolutely no way of knowing if we're flying upright anymore, not with the snow and ice barraging us like shards of shrapnel from a shotgun.

After pressing the T-Laser's second button, rabbit ears unfold out from the sides of the gadget like a cot bed and point forward. Electricity start building at the tips, zapping nearby molecules with sharp crackles. Instead of allowing it to charge to full power for a deadlier attack, I quickly press the first button next. Two marble-sized sparks of static electricity shoot forth and make swift contact with Frank's cheek. He instantaneously throws his head back against the chair's headrest and his headset flies right off on his lap. He is now very alert with widened eyes, appearing more hyper like he consumed more caffeine than necessary. I retreat my T-Laser and turn it off with a short combination of buttons; the rabbit ears release all their unused energy into the air and fold back inside.

Frank then gives me a very bewildered glare, as if this is the first he's ever witnessed a human being before. I casually pack the T-Laser into its pouch and slip it back into my jeans' pocket.

"You're giving me that look while we're in the middle of a major crisis?" I ask him sternly, with eyes locked into his.

As if in response, the helicopter reacts wildly to another tossing of the blizzard's wrath. Quickly realizing the dilemma, he puts his headset back on and attempts to regain control of the barbaric bird.

"There you go," I acknowledge with a persuasive grin.

Looking out through the windshield again, I can only hope I wasn't too late to revitalize him and get us out of this dire mess. With a sigh, I leave Frank alone in the cockpit and stop alongside William to see what he has to say. His expression currently fills with both shock and relief, restoring some color back on his face. The rest of the team seem to have corresponding feelings for my heroic deed, as well.

"What would we have done without you, Andrea?" he asks with astonishment.

Before I could reply with a smug comment, a much more intensive force rocks the helicopter without mercy. This time, it actually feels physical compared to the other disturbances.

The jolt nearly propels William off his feet but his hands swiftly gain a strong hold of the nearest vertical structure. I am nowhere near as fortuitous, however, as my face kisses the floor hard and my body starts sliding towards the door. The crashing bulk of my weight causes it to swing open, exposing the intense weather. Now heading out to my possible death, my wrists automatically wrap around another steel bar beside the entrance.

"Andrea!" William bellows at the top of his lungs.

Helpless of the new jeopardy rearing its ugly head, all he can do is hold on and watch in terror.

* * *

Back in the cockpit, Frank spots another mountaintop appearing out of nowhere in the blinding blizzard and eludes it in the nick of time while battling against the storm's gusts. Through gritted teeth in determination, he keeps a very attentive eye out for anything else.

* * *

I don't know if I am still alive or not, as my eyes are clamped shut tightly and my ears are deafened by the shrilling cacophony of the blizzard and the helicopter's spinning blades overhead. I can't even let out a horrifying howl, as I can only try to salvage whatever air can enter my lungs despite their insane speeds around me. Half of my body flaps recklessly in the wind like a flag, while being pummeled by the soaring shards of ice biting me.

The whole team screams in fright, clipping on their seat belts and hiding behind other chairs to avoid being sucked out. Meanwhile, all our belongings are being tossed around but thankfully, none of them are finding their easy escape. Instead of following everyone's plans, Owen holds on very tightly to his chair as he rises to reach for an emergency kit behind it. Pulling out a heap of rope, he ties one end of it to the chair's backset and then some around his waist.

"Mayfield!" he shouts at William as he tosses the rest of the rope to him. Hugging the structure with his limbs, he heeds on Owen's instructions.

I finally open my eyes and turn my head towards the two men despite it all being very difficult. They carefully inch closer towards me in an endeavor to save me, stretching out their free hands as they grasp onto new fixed objects. I must find the chance to reach out for one of them, without losing complete grip of my bar.

* * *

This has proven a persisting challenge, but at least Frank has managed total control again after his unexpected knockout. It also seems there won't be anymore likely mountains to avoid. Now fully realizing one of his passengers is in serious trouble, he tilts the stick to the right, causing the bird to roll in that direction like a dog. Everyone notices the change in motion and holds on tighter.

* * *

This is the perfect moment. Without hesitation from fear, I shoot my first hand for Owen, which he easily grabs and proceeds to pull me in. With the final step I must overcome, I punch fear straight in the face and let go of the steel bar. My other grip with William's slips like lard, but the agile reflexes of his other hand grabs me by the wrist with an even better hold. Using all their might, they struggle against the blizzard's suction as they gradually drag me back inside. Frank, meanwhile, slams on the emergency button within arm's reach and the door spontaneously begins to close on its own. My toes barely make it in by the second it slides past. The door shuts with a sturdy thud and its locks click electronically into place.

The life-threatening drama is now definitely over. I lay flat on my torso with my face buried in my arms, panting uncontrollably like I have finished a rigorous jog. The teamsters reveal themselves from their hiding places, gazing around curiously to find if it's safe and sound again. Owen and William untie the rope from their waists and Owen removes it from the chair.

"Bates, will the door hold until we land?" he asks Frank, pointing at it.

"Yes," he steadily answers. "Another collision against it will not make it budge this time."

Content, Owen rolls up the rope into a tight bundle and stuffs it back in the kit. Then he crouches beside me.

"You alright, Andrea?" he asks.

I'm still uncertain whether this is an illusion after death and I am hearing voices. Yet, the second I feel both the hands of him and William physically touch my back, I finally deduce I am indeed back in the chopper with eight others surrounding me. I lift my head from my wrists and share glances between the two. Trying to show as much tranquility as possible, I nod in small jerks.

"That…that was so frightening. I…thought…I was done for," I stammer, choking for air.

"Well, we are all here, Andrea, and that's all that matters now. I owe you my heartfelt gratitude for saving our lives and I'm sure the others can share my condolences for your gallant effort. If not for you, we would have all perished in this unforgiving storm," William praises in deep honor.

An applause ricochets off the walls in harmony. Curiosity persuades me to look up towards the compartment, barely seeing everyone standing and clapping away like a movie had ended on a glorious finale. Then looking at William, I notice that Frank has spared a few seconds to give me a reassuring grin before forced back on the flying.

"Well…it was Frank who I owe my life to. After all, it was his clever maneuver that drastically got me to safety first," I softly comment.

"No need to exalt me for that, Blu," Frank suggests. "You've accomplished a lot more than I did. I may have helped save your life but that was only one. You, on the other hand, saved several."

A feeble smile rooted to my face slowly spreads across my cheeks for his more honest opinion. As I stumble onto my feet and off the floor, the men beside me also rise from their crouches. Owen returns to his seat, keeping a weary eye on both the door and me. Inhaling a few deep breaths for comfort, I limp to the chair where my gear used to rest and collapse. Staring at them scattered across the floor, I bet those poor cameras weren't expecting that kind of torment, which proves why I got the cushions for them.

That dash of courage I gained from the group's applauding seeps away to nil. My eyes drift to the near window, only to have my head rapidly spin away in fright. Wondering if I developed a new phobia, there's no doubt I'm very shaken by the catastrophe that nearly claimed my life. I cover my face with my palms and start to sob.

People able to hear my soft crying stop speaking and listen closely. Owen begins focusing more on me than the door; Ben and Charles levitate inches from their seats for a better view of me. William kneels beside me, presently more concerned for my well-being.

"Andrea, are you sure you're okay?" he asks.

I expose half my face and struggle to answer, but only my lips could spout babbles of nonsense. Then I explode into tears, tossing my head and arms over my waiting lap. My dirty blonde hair drapes over my limbs like a blanket and my wailing bellows between my legs. My sudden movement has caused William to fly back a couple feet in surprise.

"I advise we leave her be, young Mayfield," Charles solemnly insists. "She's obviously very shocked from the incident she experienced. Can't say I blame her though. After all, who wouldn't be when they were so close to dying only to came back petrified."

William gazes back at me after heeding the doctor's words, feeling a sincere sympathy. Instead of returning to the cockpit, however, he occupies the other seat next to me and lifts the arm rest out of the way. Then he lays a palm flat on my back.

"Hey, Andrea, I'm here for you. Please don't cry," he whispers into my ear.

That helps me to reduce from an ear-piercing bawling to a more subtle whimpering. My chest heaves with each hiccup of air as I try to breathe normal. He remains silent while continuing to soothe me, followed shortly by a long and somber sigh.

"I got so terrified the instant the door flew open and you were sliding out. I honestly thought I was going to lose you," he says.

In the midst of my crying, I begin to appreciate his profound care. My infatuation is also thankful for this bondage that has brought us closer together over some near-disaster.

"Oh, William…" I squeak in a little girl's tone, loud enough for him to hear through my lap.

He slowly leans in closer with his hand rubbing off my back and around my farther shoulder. Then feeling his chin rest on my other shoulder, he removes some of my canopy of hair from one of my resting hands and lifts the hand to hold it. I stop crying briefly to figure out what's going on.

Okay, I will admit, this is getting a tad awkward, but at the same time, I'm really enjoying the way he's embraced me. It's like, he's protecting me from something bad like a loving, older brother would do; he's certainly proving the meaning of his name. I can tell he's not planning to leave my side anytime soon for anything else.

I eventually return to my sobbing, just to let it all out in peace while under his amenity.


	7. Chapter 6

Not too long after the crisis has drawn to a close and everything's settled again, Frank announces through the surrounding intercom speakers that station 'Mary' is within sight and we should be touching down in a few minutes. He also advises us to wear seat belts as it may be a bumpy landing.

His resonating voice wakes me from my placid daydream. I slowly raise my head until I can see above my stacking arms; the canopy of hair splits away from the front of my face like separating theater curtains, partially allowing me to observe clearly. I haven't cried for some time, yet my cheeks are still damp from the thin smearing of tears. Like sun rays reflecting off beads of morning dew from blades of grass, light fixtures above me are causing parts of my glassy face to glisten. William, who's been sticking with me this whole time, notices my movement and smiles. His hand unhooks from my shoulder and slides onto my back once more.

"Welcome back, kiddo. Glad you're doing better," he chirps happily into my ear.

Levitating his chin off my other shoulder, he gives me a gentle pat on the back and releases my hand. The hand feels it's now gasping for air, as the coating of moisture from his prolonged grip gradually evaporates away. As he leans back in his chair to obey in Frank's orders, I don't hesitate a second to rise from my awkward stance and clip on my seat belt, even though my face likely looks shamefully awful as heck. Settling my arms on the arm rests, including the one that was recently pushed back down, I respire deeply for relaxation and curiously peek out the window.

Fortunately for me, I am no longer stricken with the fear I acquired a little while ago, leaving me to believe it was only a temporary phobia that developed after dealing with a frightening incident. The storm also seems to have lessened, as the sky has lightened from the previous depressing gray to a more lively silver, and the blitz of snow is not as treacherous either. We are still getting hit by a little turbulence, however.

As I continue to watch with content, a slightly larger hand wraps over mine on the middle arm rest. A shy grin stretches wide across my face and chuckles animate my larynx with excitement as I slowly draw my attention away from the window. Once my eyes lay on the handsome devil sneering at me with a raised eyebrow, I blush pink and sigh with affection.

"Hmm, looks like you're in need of a good night's sleep tonight," William mentions.

"Huh?" I grumble in question.

"Your eyes are bloodshot," he reveals, pointing between my eyes.

"Oh, yeah," I agree softly, realizing how painfully dry they're feeling from my bawling. "Yeah, I suppose anything to heal my mental wounds from this horrible day. Sorry if I'm sounding negative."

"Hey, it's okay, I understand your frustration. You definitely deserve the rest after today," he grins, massaging my hand.

The chopper descends over a well-lit helipad a few yards from the station. The scenery outside the windows eventually present her snow-covered roof and the rolling snowy hills that mold the neighboring landscape. The bird lands rather roughly than normal, settling towards one side as if about to roll over. Once it's fully landed and the engine turns off with a fading, pitiful moan, everyone unclip their seat belts and begin to gather their scattered belongings.

I exchange my peaceful gaze with William a tad longer until he abandons me to enter the cockpit, leaving me with a slight disappointment that he's not with me anymore. A minute later, he returns with a heavy blue coat over his black suit and sets his gear by the door. Meanwhile, everyone else is all dressed warmly and ready to go as well, with uneasy expressions sketched on their countenance defining they're not willing to face the outside weather.

Remaining motionless on my seat, I watch each teamster squeeze past each other and crowd by the door like a huddle of penguins trying to keep warm. I breathe in even deeper for the courage I shall require and rise to my feet. My legs themselves feel like jelly, causing me to tremble on my weight as I try to find equal footing. Even though time has helped me to recover, I'm still somewhat anxious about the inevitable, like an adolescent animal that must fend for survival on its own in the vast, dangerous world.

My eyes widen in surprise at a thought instantly springing to new heights. Recalling I had both my camera device and my T-Laser with me at the event I was hanging for dear life, I pat each pocket to check. I gasp softly as I feel both objects inside, knowing that either one of them had a good chance to slip out and disappear into the blizzard forever. The T-Laser wouldn't be a major concern, but if I lost my camera gadget, my cameras would've become completely useless and I'd be suspended from my job.

With new confidence boosting my courage from that piece of fortuitous news, I start heaving my gear over my previously occupied chair and open my clothes baggage for one of my winter coats.

"Alright, listen up, team!" William enunciates loudly, clapping his hands once to grab everyone's attention.

I inquisitively look up at him as I am blindly putting on my coat.

"Once we step out, we'll need to hustle it to the station as quickly as possible. Let's not stick around too long in the blizzard's unforgiving wrath. Keep a watchful eye on your partners and hold hands if you feel is necessary to prevent straying off course. Let's go!"

With that final remark like a command, Frank presses the release button beside the emergency one he slammed earlier. The door electronically unlocks itself and slides open. The punishing winds blow recklessly inside the compartment, causing everyone to flinch and groan from its harsh greeting.

One by one, the members hop out onto the indigo helipad covered in a thin layer of snow like powdered sugar. As they land on actual ground, their feet sink into at least a foot of snow, forcing them to heave whatever luggage they can over their shoulders before wading through like they're treading water.

Once the final person exits the chopper, I'm fully prepared and ready to pursue them. My eyes dart to the steel case, and another eager idea zips into the spotlight. Without delay, I open it quietly and pull out one of the penny cameras. I approach the rear of the compartment until I am unable to get closer to the wall by the miniature fridge and stretch out my arm with the camera pinched in my bony fingers' grip. Eventually inches away, the camera flies off and plants itself, immediately vanishing from sight. Satisfied with its location, I return to my things knowing I can finally leave and make haste for the station without anymore bright ideas resisting my original plans, although this one had a sensible purpose.

After closing the case softly, I detect a movement inside the cockpit from the corner of my eye and I curiously rotate my head in its direction, now aware I'm not the only one on board. I suppose it'd make liable sense as the inside of the helicopter is still exposed to the outside and must be locked up before deserting it in the storm.

Frank freezes halfway out of the narrow aisle the second he spots me and everyone else is gone. He gives me a silent, suspicious stare before zipping up the rest of his forest-green jacket and stepping out of the chopper. Waiting impassively for me, I place my luggage by the edge and he conveniently takes them as I jump out. After bestowing him my thanks, he slides the door shut and secures it.

Instead of heading straight to the station, Frank starts inspecting the bird carefully, circling around it with eyes scanning up and down. Inquisitive, I leave my gear behind and walk in the opposite direction towards the front, until I am met with a startling image and abruptly brake in my pace. The black underbelly is severely scraped up and one of the landing axles is badly crippled, barely able to withstand half of the helicopter's weight.

Frank's sharp exhale of frustration diverts my attention to him.

"Perfect…" he growls. "It's going to take forever to repair all this."

"Will we be able to go home in this condition?" I ask, slightly worried.

"Well, yes and no, Blu. This is actually the least of the problem, although it's not helping either. That bit of a nasty recoil we felt when we touched the ground? That was my best attempt at landing this bird as gently as I could. It can still take off, however, broken axle or not. The real dilemma I found while in the cockpit was the engine has overheated according to the indicators and I couldn't start it back up as a quick test."

"Oh, gosh…" I murmur.

After scrutinizing the remainder of the chopper for anymore damage, we hop off the helipad together with my hands full again. We keep a close eye on each other as we follow the deep tracks that was left by the others, while being impeded by the blizzard's merciless gusts. By the time we were mere feet away from the station's entrance, the door automatically flies open for us with an electrical hiss. Inside, Frank locks up the door with a combination of buttons on a nearby LED panel.

"Everyone here?" William asks his cohorts, almost right after we joined in with the rest of the group.

Hums of confirmation harmonize in unison, which bounce off the hollow walls of this extended stretch of a hallway that is Mary's main foyer. I count each person silently in my head to see how many of us are present, since I never really grasped that task back in the chopper as I was pinpointing everyone's names. In total including me, we have nine of us. Maybe that's not too low of a number for this mission but what do I know.

"Where were you two?" he asks both me and Frank. "You haven't shown up minutes after we did.

Holding my breath, I nervously throw glances between them, like Frank and I just got busted for a misdemeanor. Even though I hope he has the perfect answer to get us out of this mess, there honestly is.

"I was investigating the helicopter's condition and Blu stuck with me for the time being," he replies, nodding once in my way. "What we encountered earlier today was a near-fatal collision with a mountain, and I eluded another one in time shortly after. The underbelly is pathetic but it's the engine that is in dire needs of repair if we are to return home.

In the midst of his explanation, William's eyes were on me with a concerned glare. Ignoring it, I show comparable defeat for the bad news as everyone exchanges disturbed murmurs. Digging into my pockets for extra warmth, my heart plummets as I quickly realize the camera device is not inside the pocket I remember.

"Uh-oh…" I mouth the words.

I frantically pat over my other pockets in case I'm mistaken about where it actually is; at least the T-Laser is still in my possession. I search the rugged steel floor around people's feet and belongings, desperately hoping it's just here somewhere and not at the worst possible place I imagine.

"You mean, we cannot escape this frigid place?" Watson asks.

Gazing up at him, I notice an odd lump bulging from inside his jacket. Upon closer inspection, there is a white cat's head poking from underneath Watson's rough chin and it seems to be sleeping peacefully. My heart melts at the picture as I just love cats to death. My hand involuntarily reaches out in a temptation to scratch behind its ears but I recede on second thoughts, reminiscing the missing gadget I must find. No worries, I can meet his cat whenever there's a more opportune time.

"Well, not at this time but not to worry, ladies and gentlemen!" William brightly resolves, taking his eyes off me. "My buddy, Frank, is an exceptional mechanic and can mend these damages in no time flat. At least it's much cozier in here, right?"

I nod in corresponding agreement, knowing he is definitely correct about the latter part. Despite the subzero temperatures outside, it actually feels very warm and comfortable here. It's like someone expected us hours ahead of time and turned on the heater so the entire station won't be so cold by the time we arrived.

"Let's not be too alarmed about this insignificant problem and focus our energy more on why we're here to begin with. We need to seek out any and all signs of our native spirits," Owen suggests, in the same tranquil tone as William's seconds ago.

"Well said, Mr. Carter," Chin acknowledges softly. "I suggest we all get some rest and forget about today. Wake up to a brand new day tomorrow with our souls rejuvenated and positive thoughts rekindled. Take it one step at a time."

Reluctantly accepting the state of the situation, the team gain new grips of their belongings and motion forth without another word. The majority have decided to trek through the western half of the hallway from the entrance, making a left turn at the end. Watson, on the other hand, heads in the opposite direction with his feline companion and enters through the door dead ahead instead of turning right. The once peaceful air is interrupted by a cacophony of hisses from the doors reacting to living bodies passing through.

Alone on the spot, I continue to survey the floor for my gadget with nothing else in mind. As the minute crawls by tediously with no success, I give up with a sigh, which causes my heart to sink even further into my stomach. If it's not here, and yet I know it was with me before stepping out of the chopper, that must mean…it is outside somewhere. It was designed to handle extreme temperatures, but nevertheless, I must find it before it gets buried in the snow.

Turning towards the door, I study the instructions sheet beside the LED panel to figure out the combination for unlocking the door. Before pressing the final button, I gaze all around me with concern that somebody will appear and attempt to cease me from stepping out. With one more sigh, I complete the combination and the door flies open in my presence.

Bracing myself against the blizzard now blowing brutally inside the lobby, I bundle up in my coat tightly like a straight jacket and proceed forth with a sturdy balance. The door closes behind me as I tread further out toward the helipad. Not daring to look back, I pursue the tracks still fresh in the deep snow as I peer everywhere on the ground for any signs of the gadget. Time and light are currently not my friends. As it is approaching night and with the addition of the storm, it's become nearly impossible to see through this animating bleakness.

I cannot believe I am being this idiotic, fueled with a risky bravery I never knew I had and facing death like there's nothing left to lose. I faced the reaper and nearly lost in his game earlier today, but I had allies to help turn the tables. This time, I am all but on my own.


	8. Chapter 7

Meanwhile, back in the station:

The path most everyone have chosen from the lobby banks into an angular hallway that is divided into several sections. Each section is a spacious corridor with a large window to view the Greenland wilderness outside and two doors from across that enter into individual bedrooms. Throughout this western wing of Mary, there are seven bedrooms in total. The fourth and final hallway segment with the odd-numbered bedroom, however, still has two doors in identical structure. The second door is for another foyer that snakes its way about the station's southern rear. So far, every bedroom in the first two sections have been claimed by a new owner, as indicated by the digital panel's LED screen by each door.

After entering the third section, William cruises to a stop mere feet from the next door and glances over his shoulder with a sense of worry. He didn't recall seeing Andrea along with the rest of the group as they all made that turn from the lobby. As he waits patiently, the door in his cone of vision opens for Doctor Chin Sung Lee. Chin gives him a peaceful stare before entering the first bedroom. Seconds later, Frank shows up.

"Something wrong, Bill?" he asks William, uncertain of what's going on.

William delays a response, still distracted by the door while ignoring all else. Then his immobile gaze slowly lifts towards his friend.

"I have an inkling Andrea hasn't come by here yet. I know she accompanied you when you entered the station, but not a sign of her since then," he finally answers.

"Hasn't she chosen a room already?" Frank asks, throwing glances at the bedroom doors.

"No, I don't think so. Doctor Lee picked that one before you showed, and I know everyone else has settled in theirs."

"Maybe she's just being late again? While I was leaving the cockpit, I noticed she was still in the compartment."

"That explains why you both were the last to enter the station, aside from the fact she was likely curious about the helicopter's poor condition as you elaborated. Did you ask what she was up to?"

"Nah, I ended up letting it go. She could've just been slow gathering her luggage, although I was wondering why it took her so long."

After exchanging concerned looks that ends their conversation, William resumes his focus on the door without another peep while Frank seems slightly less bothered about the situation. Then Chin's door opens to reveal the elderly sage underneath the door frame with a minor emotion of distress behind his beard.

"I sense more than that, my friends. I am afraid our female colleague is undergoing some kind of danger," he calmly warns.

In a newly clenched desire, William sets his gear down and trots to the door from whence they all came. Before departing his companions without reason, he turns toward them.

"I must check what Andrea is up to. Last thing I want is for any of us to wander into any senseless trouble, not with these restless souls on the loose," he sternly explains. "Oh, by the way, I decided to not choose this room, Frank. I want to save it for Andrea."

He nods once at the only other bedroom yet to have an owner.

"Umm, okay…" Frank mumbles bewildered. "You want me to take your luggage to our real room then, Bill?"

"No, that will not be necessary. I will deal with them when I return."

William scoots out of the corridor in swift motion, leaving Frank dumbfounded on the spot. He looks at Chin with the same expression before finally decided to shrug it off and enters the door to the final hallway segment. Chin shortly returns to his room.

After returning to Mary's foyer in a heartbeat, William screeches to a halt when he finds Andrea's belongings by the front door, but she is nowhere to be seen. Studying the picture more diligently like a detective searching for clues to a missing person, he spots small puddles of water and melting snow on the floor, formerly left by his teammates a little while ago. Then there's a set of wet tracks that seem to lead towards the door rather than away, with fresher specks of snow scattered about.

"Oh, no," he faintly whispers, immediately predicting the worst scenario as some color flushes away from his face.

Zipping his winter coat back over his suit, he stares at the door with discomfort of saying hello to the savage blizzard. Still, he must check if he's right. Did she really go back outside?

* * *

I am halfway to the helipad with unfortunately no luck finding my electronic yet. Even with confidence and energy depleting by the storm, I must find it if it kills me. I shield my face from the barraging snow with my arms, keeping my eyes narrowly open as if the sun is shining directly at me. My nostrils and ears are literally frozen at this point, and my hair is waving frantically in the wind like many whips.

Finally, I catch sight of a faint light glowing in the blitz and wade clumsily through the deep slosh. The device brightens as if happy to see me again and I pick it up. I heave a forced sigh of relief, although the storm is preventing it from leaving the chasm of my mouth. The gadget's energy is not showing any signs of trauma at all, with its battery power still reading healthy as an ox.

Now it's time to head back to the station before anyone realizes I'm missing, aside from the fact it's getting chillier by the minute and I can feel it inside my jacket. I tuck the device inside the same pocket and hover my hand over it to ensure it can't escape again. It's still astonishing how it never got sucked out earlier when it had a much better chance then than here.

Suddenly, a superstitious humming emits through the roaring storm. Confused but not frightened, I perk my ears for the new sound's source; at one point, I hear it clearly enough to recognize it and my face molds into turmoil. What could possibly be causing my electronic to moan now? My intuition is now informing it is somehow not coming from the only active camera available inside the helicopter.

I leer at the bleak distance with only a few hundred yards around me, making me feel I'm trapped inside a small, enclosed dome that resembles the storm, with its dark void nearly engulfing me as dusk continues to settle. Then I spot the faint silhouette of a possible person in the field of dunes, moving so casually as if not impeded by the blizzard at all. I continue to observe it sharply as it disappears and reappears behind taller ones.

Where on earth could this person be heading other than forward?

A strong gust completely throws me off guard and sends me off my feet into the cold snow. I struggle desperately to lift my skull from the ground, and as I do, specks of snow attached to my cheeks like flour gradually blows away.

Determined, I try swiftly to find the person again. I manage a brief glimpse of them again before they vanish into the blizzard indefinitely. Back on my feet, I continue to inspect the area near my previous encounter in case my eyes were too slow at that point. Then my gadget falls silent, leaving the weather to its intermittent howling without further intrusion. Within another minute of searching, I give up and sulk in defeat, even though my persistence still lingers.

Who was that person and why were they meandering out here in the middle of nowhere like that? Since my device allegedly reacted to their presence, it's possible that wasn't an actual human being like I suspected at first but an apparition. Could this be THE ghost or just one of the ghosts we are supposed to find? Well, I can ponder more on that when I return to the station, as the developing brainstorm is making me freeze a little more. Before moving, I hear a voice faintly calling in the distance. I look in its direction towards the station, and then I spin my head away quickly in shame.

"Uh-oh…" I lip-sync the words.

I swallow a hard lump abruptly lodged into my throat, now realizing just how much trouble I am in. I could not get back in time and worse yet, I never informed anyone I stepped out. Massaging my face with my frigid hands, my brain fills with the highly-desired wish of getting out of this sticky situation, as well as curses for both the mysterious figure and my device.

Oh, well, time to face the music.

Keeping a soured expression on, I hustle it back to the station through the snow. Eventually close enough to recognize who else is out here with me, my frown drags even further down as if helped by gravity. William waits for me by the door until I am within reach then he nudges me inside with a hasty push.

I toss my back against the wall across the entrance, causing tiny clumps of snow to cascade down my head. My nerves quiver from the remainder melting away and soaking my hair. Not totally evident from my point-of-view, but noticing the piles resting of my shoulders as well, it would seem an avalanche has landed on me. Before reaching up to brush off one of my shoulders, I am shot with a paralyzing cower and the resist to make eye contact with William. I feel like a young lass who greatly despises getting into any sorts of trouble at the cost of an upcoming punishment.

Finally grasping the courage to look up, all I can see on his countenance is a mixture of anger and apprehension.

"What the heck were you thinking, Andrea?! You could have frozen to death out there in that storm!" he harshly snaps.

Admittedly, although his yelling is more than intimidating, I admire his utter care for me. I think carefully about my wiser choice of words to avoid making a wrong response or argue back to ruin my reputation, since I'm already confined in a fairly deep hole.

"I'm sorry I did not tell anyone, especially you," I softly plead in guilt. "I had to retrieve my electronic that got lost out there, but I was only going to be out for a minute."

"I saw you out there for more than just a minute, dear!" he retorts with sarcasm.

I glower into further disgrace, now speechless of his strict behavior and unsure what to say next. Shall I inform him of the stranger I spotted, or will that dig me into a deeper hole? I could use it as a get-out-of-jail-free card but it doesn't feel right to spill its beans to maybe emerge from this mess.

The unpleasant peace continues to levitate between us as I remain timid and quiet as a mouse. My scalp reacts once more to the cold stings from the warming snow, but feeling so petrified in place, I cannot even lift a finger. Then, I hear William sigh in alleviation and look up again.

"I'll leave you be on this for now," he says, his face loosening up. "If you absolutely needed to recover your device and could not wait until morning, you could have asked any one of us to escort you. I would have gladly volunteered, storm or not. Besides, we need to be more mindful of our discontent souls that lurk around here."

That is when I begin to tense up a tad.

"Look, I honestly didn't want to be out there but I was too stubborn to heed my sensible instincts. I do appreciate your assistance with such a risky task as this, and next time, I will ask without hesitation. After all, you are confronting the same person who nearly died today and I'm still shaken by it," I clarify.

"Yes…you are right about that. I am still driven by the shock I nearly lost you and don't want it to happen again," he confesses, now sounding like a different man than moments ago. "I just have to keep an eye out for my team since it is a duty I enlisted to. Do you mind if escort you to your bedroom?"

"I won't mind, thanks," I answer a little more brightly. "I really do apologize for making you worry about me."

"Well, at least you're safe now, Andrea, and that's all that matters."

"I swear, you sound much like an older brother I never had," I note.

"Really?" he scoffs with surprise.

I nod with a smile now growing across my face. He expresses the same heartfelt feelings for my compassion as we quietly gaze into each other's souls. Then as consideration, he swipes the snow from my shoulders, and hooking around one of them for support, he removes the rest from my head.

After snatching my things and him locking up the main door, we amble side-by-side down the foyer. From anyone's view, we would seem like an inseparable pair with this reunion. We eventually arrive at the corridor where William abandoned his belongings.

"I saved this last bedroom for you, since all the others are taken and Frank and I will be roommates in ours. Looks like you and I will be sharing the same wall for a few days, eh?" he says, smirking.

I nod soundlessly and enter my new bedroom. Eyes instantly widen and I gasp at the glamorous sight before me. The grips to my luggage slack until they slip from my fingers and create loud rackets on the floor. Inching closer to the center of the room at a snail's pace, I pause and allow my hungry eyes to observe.

A full-sized bed lies adequately against the same wall holding the door, with a quaint nightstand cuddling beside it. Across the room is a wide set of maroon blinds over a window; currently, the window is covered in an opaque sheet of arctic frost. Below is a green table that stretches to a large wardrobe, which is not standing far from another door entering a small lavatory. Several light fixtures poke out of the walls like pimples, plus a couple more from the ceiling. The lights themselves give off a strong yet soft illumination, making them immaculate for providing the room enough light without being too bright.

I mindless wander closer to the table to hoist my stuff over it, ignorant I dropped them by the foot of the bed. Snapping out of it, I rotate towards them. That's when I also notice William leaning against the door frame, grinning blissfully at me.

_"Oh, gosh, how can I forget he's still here? I must have been so indulged in the enthrallment of my new room, it's obvious why I accidentally dumped my gear. It really isn't that special, yet my curiosity proved otherwise, frankly,"_ I think to myself, frowning slightly.

"Well, what do you think? How do you like your new flat for the time being?" he serenely asks.

I gawk at him rudely for a few seconds, before finding the voice to speak.

"Um, I will say it's really awe-inspiring and more spacious than my apartment's bedroom, although it is cluttered with junk," I mention, blushing at the thought of even admitting the final remark. "All it needs is a little feminine touch and it's golden."

As my eyes continue to relish in their precious candy, the uplifting giddiness of my room dissipates as my concern for that mysterious stranger returns. Diving into profound daydreaming, I completely shut myself off from the surrounding world.

William notices my familiar, perturbed expression and his grin disappears. Balancing all weight back on his feet from the door frame, he approaches until he's facing me, eye-to-eye.

"What's troubling you, Andrea?" he asks, leering.

I remain unmoved from my esoteric preoccupation, unable to answer even if I heard him. Maybe I should go ahead and tell him why I was outside longer than intended. Without a doubt, his objective is set on reaching out to these immortals somehow. I still can't be absolutely certain if that truly was a spirit or just a stranded human desperately seeking shelter, although my gadget did go nuts.

With my lack of response evident, William waves a hand in front of my face; my eyes follow it vaguely but I'm still unresponsive. Then with the same hand, he aims for one of my ears and snaps his fingers. A high squeak expels from me and I blink wildly, finally released from my impenetrable daydream as my full vision of the room reappears. I stare at him with nervous innocence, worried I have somehow fallen into trouble again and not ready for another scolding.

"Oh, I am so sorry, William! I did not mean to ignore you or anything!" I spout out in humiliation.

"Hey, hey, Andrea, it's okay," he calmly coaxes me, placing a palm on my cheek.

I gradually relax under his comfort and inhale slow breaths to relieve the tension I suddenly built inside.

"No need to apologize. I'm just curious what's on your mind, that's all," he says, moving his hand away.

"Okay…" I sigh. "Yes, there is something bothering me and it's about while I was outside to recover my gadget. After finding it, it emitted that same eerie crying as before, then I detected a faint silhouette of somebody off in the distance."

His eyes flicker with disbelief.

"What? Are you sure?" he asks baffled.

"You remember those wisps I told you about last night, right?"

"Yes, I do," he agrees. "So, you believe this is a similar discovery?"

"I think so," I steadily nod. "This stranger was traveling past some snow dunes not too far from my location and I tracked them until I got thrown into the ground. I only saw them again just briefly before they disappeared for good, leaving me with questions as to where they were going or what they were doing. All I can predict from this is they may be one of the native spirits you mentioned we should watch out for."

Studying the skepticism sketched on him, I can tell he's more bewildered than concerned about this discovery.

"Umm…" he hums low in his throat. "I was going to recommend you spotted a mirage in the blizzard, but if you speculated your equipment resumed that same odd behavior as you described, then it IS possible you found more than just an ordinary stranger. Nevertheless, it's very elusive."

I sigh with slight agitation from his lack of belief and massage my cheeks, which still feel quite cold and numb.

"I wasn't hallucinating, William. I am simply telling you what both me and my machinery witnessed from our own perspectives. Did you not invite us here to help you with these apparitions that inhabit this very tundra?" I solemnly ask.

"Yes, that is correct, especially in your case. I did indeed hire you for this very obligation you dedicated yourself to," he admits and sighs softly. "While we're on the subject, I suggest you start setting up your system throughout the station tomorrow. Let's see if we can unveil anymore of these unusual events since you've already scratched the surface. Also, Frank will be in charge of Mary's maintenance and security, so I will enlighten him of your extra set of eyes to avoid interference."

"Sure, that won't be a problem. I can begin first thing after breakfast, assuming there's nothing else that requires my utmost attention," I confirm.

Without warning, I yawn a cat's big yawn and stop abruptly.

"Oh, goodness, sorry about that," I stutter.

"Well, hope you get that well-deserved rest and I'll see you again tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm sure to have no trouble dozing off tonight. Good night, William."

"Sweet dreams to you, Andrea," he says coolly and winks.

After departing my room, and before my door closes behind him, I watch him grab his belongings and walk through the other door currently visible. Both doors slide shut simultaneously, harmonizing in an obnoxious finale. I freeze into place for a long minute, shivering excitably at the reaction of his suave gesture. I shake my head and sigh in another relief of affection.


	9. Chapter 8

After William's departure, I proceed with my small, crazy plan of transforming my new bedroom into a suitable home. One that is a night and day comparison to my cluttered apartment even though there is not really much at all for a dramatic renovation. With that motivation fueled into my system, I eventually stuff my hands full of my gear again and carry them to the table as previously intended during my mesmerized enthusiasm of the room. Once heaved to the top with my female might, I first unzip my clothes baggage and head to the wardrobe for a few empty hangers. For the next few minutes, I perform a typical mother's chore of putting away my clothes and bundling socks and underwear tightly into a quaint set of drawers inside the wardrobe.

With my nightgown waiting by the edge of the table, I reach for the next luggage containing diverse accessories and take out just the bathroom inventory. Deciding to not empty out the rest of it, I toss my vacated clothes baggage under the table and more carefully set the accessories one on top of it.

Only other piece of gear than the lunch kit still full of provisions is the steel case. Gazing long into it like a crystal ball, I gradually become energized with an urge to go ahead and set up my system tonight, rather than tomorrow after breakfast as I had promised William. Opening the case half-mindedly, I pry out a camera and fiddle with it in my fingers whilst the idea continues to brew inside the pot. I know it won't be possible to launch my cameras in every single room tonight because everyone has occupied their rooms for the night and I don't want to disturb them with even a very brief task as this. Besides, my conscious will be more at peace if no one knows the plain existence of my cameras or where they are located. I plan to keep that information confidential to myself. Nevertheless, whatever I CAN accomplish will already be working their magic throughout tonight and I'll check for anything unusual as soon as I wake up in the morning.

As drowsiness starts to seep in like fine sand in an hourglass, I sweep the idea aside and tuck the camera back in its indentation in the cushion. Then with my nightgown and accessories in hand, I head straight for the bathroom.

* * *

Exiting the bathroom all immaculate as a whistle, I am ready for the good night sleep I deserve after today. It was amazing firsthand how the water I used for my short bath and other duties got warm so quickly, since it must be frigid from where it's originating. This place really was built well for the stay, and not an inch of it seems dilapidated for all the years it's been deserted. One would speculate that after a long period of no one tending to it, it would show at least some sign of age. On the other hand, I haven't an accurate clue of how old this place is, aside from William's note that his father was here over ten years ago.

Noticing the case once again, the addicting desire returns and now the battle of indecision commences. Minutes into it on a back-and-forth motion, I finally reach a verdict which forces a sigh of agitation. Might as well get it over with so I can sleep easy tonight, before anymore bright ideas sprout up.

Unpacking the cushions and laying them side-by-side on the table, I pull out the miniature gun first. Diligently sticking each camera into its barrel correctly, I fill it up until it cannot hold anymore and cock it a few times to line them up into place. Then I cram a handful more into my only pocket on my nightgown for additional ammo, so to speak. Hopefully, this will be enough for this night owl stroll.

I aim the gun at the slender slab of wall above the door to the hallway and pull the trigger. A strange "thwip!" is heard as the first camera zips out of the gun's barrel at a nimble speed like an actual bullet. After barely noticing it blend in with the wall's subtle gray texture, I head closer to the door to complete the remainder of the task around Mary. I nearly jump out of my skin from the door's sharp hissing as it slides open automatically for me.

"Geez, talk about something that is supposed to be very quiet and smooth to create such a commotion," I wonder.

I stand petrified by the door with my heart throbbing hard in my throat, worried I may have alerted my next-door neighbors. Only thing unnecessary out of this is to arouse any panic just because I am enthralled to take a walk through the station this late in the peaceful hours.

Tiptoeing forth and out into the corridor, the door closes behind me with the same cacophony.

"This is going to be harder than I predicted," I murmur under my breath, glaring at the door.

* * *

Having accomplished much of the job, I check the time displayed on my gadget's screen, which indicates it has been nearly an hour when I started. Well, more than half of it was wasted on the station's tour itself, because I could not contain the famished curiosity that persuaded me to merely observe everything while launching my cameras.

On one bright note, I did not have to wander into total darkness and rely on my device as the only dinky source of light throughout this small adventure. Every hallway and room I visited have sprung to life with lights identical to those in my bedroom. Since they are not too intense, it's evidently convenient for people who have stumbled out of bed and their sensitive eyes are still used to the dark. I also found a neat, little discovery as I was performing the routine of checking the presently active cameras: the lights go off approximately a minute after I depart a room.

Secondly, I did not alarm anybody by the noisy doors, fortunately, including Watson although that one was a close call. I was totally ignorant that his bedroom is on the northeastern corner of Mary away from everyone else, which explains why he went the opposite direction from the lobby earlier this evening. Then I found his room is connected to a cold pantry room that enters the kitchen. After I caused his door to open on accident, I almost sneaked inside to launch another camera but wise second thoughts ceased me. If these lights turn on by a moving body, the same would have happened in his room and I'd have certainly woken Watson from his slumber. Because of that risk, I did not stay there for much longer.

Now that I've planted as many cameras as I can to my pleasing, I can finally hustle it back to my room and sleep in peace. Digging into my pocket, I shuffle with the remaining cameras and count them, lip-syncing the numbers as I go along. There is likely enough for the other bedrooms tomorrow. Also, I came across one door that didn't open for me; it seemed to require a special keycard access as according to the large red eye above it and a specifically designed panel at shoulder's height for scanning cards. Until I can get somebody to assist me, that mysterious room will have to wait.

Sigh…talk about a sight tonight.

From where I am currently located, nothing but windows surround me with the upper-half of a dome sitting feet above my head. I think I am at what is the station's watch tower, since I had to climb such a seemingly endless ladder to reach its balcony. It was like I was on my way to Heaven. The tower must be at least fifty-feet high, sticking out of the station towards the sky like a pencil balancing perfectly on its point. There is not much to observe though due to the opaque storm perilously beating against the windows with its snow blitz, but I bet it is a tremendous view on clearer days.

Having seen enough of the blizzard, I cautiously find my footing on a ladder rung and descend downwards, not daring to peek down at the vertical tunnel below me. I don't want to risk another phobia even if I am not terribly afraid of heights.

With both feet planted on the rugged steel floor, I spin towards the door out of this corridor. I only accomplish a baby step before hearing the faint sound of a door's hissing and I freeze completely. Holding in a deep breath, I can feel my heart beating recklessly inside my chest once again, making me feel slightly nauseous.

Has somebody been scouting Mary and finally caught up with me, even though I was at the watch tower for some time?

Immediately predicting it might be William coming to confront me again for snooping around late at night, I release from my stiff position and dart behind the wall that stretches to the dead-end of this reverse L-shaped foyer. Waiting patiently, I throw occasional glances at the door. Unfortunately, with these lights still on, I won't be safe in my hiding place for long if they do happen to come by here. As the uncomfortable minutes tick past with nothing else happening, I resume my normal breathing while my heart has relaxed enough to not throb my whole torso intermittently in its wild, percussive beating.

Then I quickly recall the cameras I have activated.

"Yeah, I can easily pinpoint who else is sneaking around here in the dead of night besides me," I mutter.

I also remember that door's sound felt close, like it was the one right next to the one I am staring at in the next hallway. Navigating through the cameras' perception on my gadget, I finally tune to the one overlooking the doors there.

The lights are on, which is quite suspicious because I know I was gone more than long enough for them to not be wasting electricity this whole time. Rewinding the footage with the familiar triangle button on the gadget's pad, I eventually notice the door opening and closing…with no one in sight whatsoever. With a mandible slowly gaping down in confusion, I let the flick play normal to ensure I did not miss anything in the swift reverse motion.

Then I switch to one of the cameras gazing down the extended hallway that door connects to. Again, not a sign of this possible stranger, despite the lights livening the entire passage here, too. Allowing the camera's footage to resume play after it's been rewound to a good spot, all I hear from the minuscule speakers is the door's commotion and nothing else. Not even a soft pattering can be heard across the floor.

I continue to gawk at the screen with my jaw still ajar in awe. How was it my cameras have been able to detect things until now, sight or sound? On the other hand, the door responded to the moving body like normal. That's when the wandering spirit from outside reappears in my mind and I flinch from the prevailing picture. Could that ghost be here now and just meandering the hallways while avoiding mortal eyes? Something about that does not quite fit in the puzzle though. There is no way that apparition could make our electrical appliances react to their presence, although that would be ironic seeing as my system has that unique ability to detect them. Also, why didn't my device moan that first instance I heard the door?

Bombarded by the new enigma, I find the muscle to move again. While on my way back to my room, I keep a weary eye on the cameras ahead of my path just in case.

As my bedroom door closes behind me, I place the gadget beside the alarm clock on the nightstand and pack the gun and the remaining cameras back in their cushions. After shutting the case, I shove it against the wall below the window sill. I stare at it sternly for a minute, both in exhaustion and concern before heading to the lavatory for another nature's call.

Next thing, my skull is comfortably resting on the pillow, which feels just as plush as mine back at home, and I am curled underneath the thick, warm covers. A minute after settling down, the lights around me begin to dim until they are no more, leaving just the LED panels beside the two doors faintly lit. As my eyes adjust to the new darkness, I notice a very soft illumination inside the bathroom. I don't remember there being some nightlight in there but maybe that is what that odd panel beside the mirror above the sink is for.

As my brain continuously scrambles about on the extraordinary episodes I faced today, my eyes steadily grow heavier and heavier until I finally manage to shut the brain up and pass out completely.


	10. Chapter 9

Day 1

As the finale of a dream draws to a close, I lift my eyes open wearily to a room energized by the morning light intensifying through the maroon blinds. For a split second, I honestly thought I am in my apartment and stirring in my own bed, but soon realize I am not. While sleepily gazing around the room as my mind replays a piece of a dream I remember most from last night, I see heavy snow falling behind the blinds. Inquisitive, I set my bare feet on the floor, which surprisingly does not feel very cold at all, and stumble towards the window. After yanking on the string to roll the blinds up, I hum a noise of astonishment at the view outside.

The weather seems to have calmed down enough for the snow to fall in sheets, and there's hardly any wind to alter their downward path helped by gravity. This feels so romantic, like it has turned into a beautiful Christmas morning invigorated by snow and everyone has gathered around the tree to open their gifts by the cozy fireplace. Chuckling weakly at the inspiring image, I back away from the window and start focusing on my morning duties. Grabbing my clothes to wear for the day from the wardrobe, I make my way to the bathroom.

* * *

Tugging the bows on my shoelaces to finish securing my second sneaker, I tidy out my bed sheets and smooth my quilt over everything. Normally, I don't make my bed at home, but it is nonetheless a wise idea to not look sloppy in front of my guests if they ever come to visit. Snatching the camera device from the nightstand, I scan each camera for any new occurrences caught after I went to bed last night. So far, nothing out of the ordinary sparks my interest. Instead, everyone is currently heading to the dining room for breakfast on their own casual pace. As my stomach grumbles from the first hunger pang in response, I check the kitchen to find Watson nearly finished preparing scrumptious meals for his famished guests.

Tucking the gadget into my pocket after witnessing everything possible, I am quickly reminded of my incomplete objective. Since I have just the bedrooms today, I reckon it won't hurt to finish in a jiffy while everyone is off elsewhere, then I can head to the dining room with satisfaction. Nodding to myself in agreement to the plan, I trot to my table and pull the case closer towards me.

As I am readying the loaded gun and the remaining cameras into my other pockets away from the device, my ears perk at the sound of a door's hissing right outside mine and I glance over my shoulder. Now growing eager to know who that is, I hastily stuff my pockets with less diligence, close up the case, and pull my elastic, long-sleeved shirt over my pants to hide the strange bulges around my hips before dashing out.

It's Ben, and it seems he is wearing a similar style of outfit as yesterday, except the shades of green are inverted and he is not wearing those hemp pants. He abruptly stops in his tracks the instant he hears my door's commotion and spins my way like a top. A grin gallantly glows brightly on his round face and his eyes glitter, probably from both excitement and the lights above us.

"Oh, hey, good morning, Andrea! Did you sleep well last night?" he merrily chirps.

"Hmm, yeah, I suppose you could say that. As soon as my head touched that pillow, the bed released a powerful dozing spell I could not resist for very long," I dutifully answer.

He chortles at my whimsical reply, which causes me to giggle a little out of turn.

"That's excellent to know. Very happy to hear you are doing much better this morning. So, guess I'll see you at the dining room? I am very intrigued of what our "four-star" chef has cooking for us after my brisk walk around Mary's perimeters. Just the thought alone sounds delectable, if only thoughts were edible," he says, rubbing his hands together.

"Oh, I am sure whatever it is he's making, it will all be uniquely fabulous. Well, I still have a few petty chores left to do before I am ready to head there. Huh, I don't know why but I am suddenly having a craving for pancakes," I note, scoffing.

"Now that sounds really good! You can encourage Watson in case he hasn't already made those. Alright, I'll see you in a little while then, Andrea. Don't spend too much time on your chores," he waves excitably before leaving me alone in the corridor, whistling away like a sparrow who's caught his first worm.

"Sorry that I lied, Ben," I mumble softly in the lonely air after his departure. "My real task won't take long, I promise."

Staying true to my word, I pursue his direction until I enter the bedroom next door to mine.

The pungent smell of incense immediately invades my nostrils, forcing me to twitch and groan.

"Whoa, I don't mind the scent but this is filling it over the top like a brimming cup," I murmur.

Studying the room carefully, I notice the furniture layout and the flat's enclosure itself is identical to mine. The only difference is the few accessories around. On the table is a small Bonsai tree and several pots of incense burning without need for supervision. Underneath the pots are trays for catching any chunks of ash that fall. A worn-out scroll filled with gigantic Chinese letters hang freely by the window, and on the center of the floor is an oriental rug of exotic colors and patterns. No doubt, judging by these foreign, fancy doodads, this room must belong to Chin. Despite how strong the incense is, I allow more of it to enter my lungs before pressing on. I shoot a camera above his door and exit his room.

Visualizing a list of rooms in my mind, I swipe a check by Chin's and set it aside. Recalling there are more bedrooms on the way to the main lobby, it sounds reasonable to tackle those first and then backtrack this way for the rest.

Entering the second hallway segment, the nearest bedroom door does not open for me. The status on the LED panel reads the room is unoccupied and locked. A mischievous sneer appears on my face as I try to figure out who owns this room. Using the footage from the camera staring at me from behind, I rewind it until I catch the reverse animation of Ben moonwalking to his door, unlocking it, and stepping inside. Resuming normal play, I spot a bunch of green behind him and quickly pause before the door closes.

"Are those…bushes…or are those trees? What is Ben thinking?" I wonder in surprise.

He must indeed be crazy enough to transform his room into a full greenhouse for his flora. I quirk my eyebrow at the picture, followed by an amused scoff that he definitely lives up to his last name. I could use the footage to crack the combination and enter his room, but I don't feel keen on the idea of breaking in so I can come back later.

In the next room, another aroma has completely succumbed the air, but it is not incense this time. It is actually causing my throat to burn, forcing me to cup over my mouth and nose to filter the effect. More than half of the table is cluttered with dozens of makeup and hair accessories, and beside them is a small laptop. My guess is this pungent attack is coming from the hair sprays and perfumes in the mix. Sitting comfortably on the pillow and staring right at me with its pitch-black yet tranquil eyes is a large teddy bear. I immediately predict Lisa lives here, since I know makeup is a girl's thing although I never was into preening my feathers, so to speak. I only care about looking decent for the day without being so gruff. After firing another camera at the same spot as before in Chin's room, I quietly apologize to the bear for the intrusion and leave.

I expel the extra carbon dioxide developed in my lungs during my stay and invite new air with steady gasps. Now with this section half-done, that just leaves one more.

As soon as the first bedroom door opens in the next corridor, my eyes fall on a few puce jackets and white coats hanging inside the exposed wardrobe. The table has vials and bottles of various shapes and colors. Recognizing the putrid jackets, this is Charles' room. I approach the table and begin inspecting the containers, very gingerly picking one of them up. The vials hold liquid formulas while the bottles are mostly for storing different capsules. I can't even read the incomprehensible names on the labels, but that's what to expect with these products. Then I notice some of the vials, including the one in my grasp, has danger signs stamped on the sides. Unwilling to push my luck, I cautiously set mine down and back off. With one more "thwip!", I bolt out of the doctor's flat in a zip.

Next bedroom, I hear a harmonic cacophony of beeps and buzzes from multiple machinery, which happen to be various equipment and a laptop working independently like crazy on the table. An expensive-looking telescope stands in front of the window, trying to peek out through the blinds like it is spying something outside. After shooting another camera, I try to think who owns this room, then I reminisce Owen's fascination over my invention.

"Okay, yeah…I think all this so-called obsolete equipment he referred are his. Eh, I don't know Owen, you seem to have better toys than me," I confirm.

I look through the telescope's eyepiece, only to discover the lens is severely cracked. Either he isn't aware or hasn't had the time to replace it. It's such a bummer, too, because first look at the telescope encouraged me to ask Owen if I can borrow it sometime for observing stars. I wonder what they look like closer towards the north pole.

Now that I have covered almost every bedroom on Mary's western wing except for Ben's, I believe there is one more to go before I can finally join my buddies in the dining room. I know on a straying thought there's Watson's, which I noted I found by accident last night and never bothered to launch a camera there. Since I will be heading in that direction this morning anyway, maybe I'll keep the gun in my possession until I can sneak into his room. Not sure how exactly I will accomplish that, as there will have to be a split second of him not paying attention or I can boomerang around the much windier way to there to avoid getting caught.

All that remains is William's room. When he mentioned we will be sharing the same wall together for a few days, and if I already visited Chin's room, then his must be south of me in the fourth divided hallway. With giggles and shudders of ecstasy, I retrace my steps in the direction of my room.

* * *

Staring contently at his bedroom door, I receive a silent warning that something in there will not go smoothly once I enter, unlike the previous rooms. Whatever it might be, I will keep my senses on full alert for this unknown danger.

Inside, the only things distinctive about this room are a couple of laptops on the table and a spare mattress on the floor. The mattress is laying several feet away from the bed, separated by the nightstand sandwiched in between. Since William also noted he will be splitting his room with his friend, Frank, it makes feasible sense Frank has the extra mattress. Recalling we have nine members to the team with only eight rooms available, it explains that somebody has to form roommates with the odd-numbered member.

As I curiously amble to the center of the room, my instincts start yelling at me like I am being scolded for my actions. Suddenly, a loud alarm sets off and I jump inches from the ground in fright. Spinning around frantically, something from the bathroom appears in the corner of my eye.

A machine, much like a miniature tank, approaches me calmly. It is approximately the height of my knees, and with me being average height, that doesn't make it very big.

I glare at it suspiciously as it treads to a stop in front of me and aims its gun right between my eyes. Now my intuition is screaming at me to run for it. I duck at the last second as the tank fires its first shot. The missile zooms past where my head was and explodes at the wall behind me, leaving a nasty splotch of black soot.

Certain this little beast wants me dead for likely intruding, I have no choice but to play 'cat and mouse', with me unfortunately being the hopeless prey. I waltz around the room with agile reflexes as I evade every attack leashed at me, like this has turned into a brutal round of dodge ball. I must grab the opportunity to shoot my next camera and then I can gladly leave, but my curiosity this time has really put me in danger and I am paying the ultimate price with this tank giving me so much grief. I am left with the higher inclination for survival against this ridiculous onslaught over my primary task.

At one point, the tank surrounds me at the corner by the window. My heart beats away madly with fear assuming I am now done for, whilst my brain determines when to dodge this upcoming attack. This is, no doubt, another struggle against facing death like an old friend and him eerily coaxing me closer, not after what happened yesterday.

It moves its cross-hair square in my forehead and fires. This time, however, a weak "pow!" followed by a billow of smoke expels from the end of its gun. Leering at it bewildered in my presently crouched position, I slowly rise back to full height as the vehicle continues to choke in attempt to shoot another missile. I respire a sigh of relief, knowing luck is finally on my side and this is my chance. After launching a camera from across the room, I revolve around the stalled tank at best distance possible with my eyes glued to it until I am at a clear path for the door.

It's amazing how these projectiles can produce so much soot on these walls when they seemed powerful enough to create holes instead. Seriously, this is way too much for a defense this volatile. I was not even planning on stealing anything or carrying out any other misdeed than this brief intrusion, yet artificial intelligence nowadays still can't figure out the difference.

A crack of a smirk unfurls wide across my cheeks and I begin to chuckle in victory against this nuisance. Then the tank twists its torso towards me and fires one more projectile inches past my ear. I dart out of the room before it breaks down again.

As the door closes behind me, I collapse on my rubber legs and pant uncontrollably from this drastic episode. Darn it, why have I been undergoing so much jeopardy ever since I became part of this expedition? Is it honestly worth my health and fragile heart?

Rising to my feet, I wobble to the next door on the way to Mary's southern passage.


	11. Chapter 10

With a brisk jog through the windy foyer despite my legs still feeling moderately worn from that tango with the tank, I end up in another corridor. From what I assume according to my adventure last night, this segment is considered the crossroads of Mary since it has a door on every enclosed wall, however, only three of the four cardinal directions lead to separate hallways, whilst the last enters a room.

I had sketched a psychological map to memorize where the paths advance from here. On the western quarter is the door I just entered from seconds ago. The north goes to another sectioned hallway chopped into two and eventually ends at the main lobby. The section beyond this door has two more doors for different rooms whereas the next after that has none. In fact, that division has absolutely nothing aside from the doors for regular traffic and a lonely steel grate by one of them for air circulation. The eastern door attaches to the very foyer I suspected that elusive stranger snooped through last night, and finally, the southern entry goes to a small control room.

I brake in front of a water cooler beside the southern door and help myself to a refreshment, since my throat feels dry and painful from that dramatic event. How ironic it is to imagine myself in the middle of a vast desert in this uncomfortable thirst, when I am instead enveloped by the other extreme side of mother nature. With that amusing fact in mind, I consume another swig before disposing the cup into a nearby bin. I turn towards the northern passage to make my way to the dining room, but the cacophony of the control room's door causes me to nearly trip on myself in surprise. Rotating towards the now exposed enclosure, I blush in humiliation that helps my cheeks to regain color from the heat of my rushing blood cells, predicting if it's me that triggered the door to open. As heightened interest kicks in, I tiptoe closer until my hands grip the side of the door frame and my head stretches inside like an inquisitive turtle.

The monstrosity of equipment and furniture hog up most of the confined space, making the control room even more cramped. Just as I always believe my bedroom at home was bad enough with my crap lying around, this one takes that cake although not as sloppy. The tables lined against the walls have mountains of paperwork side-by-side, petty office supplies, and several computers working independently. Towards the rear is another furniture that holds a very large computer monitor on top, a keyboard levitated by a sliding piece of wood built into the structure, and a printer halfway to the floor. The printer is presently spitting out rolls of paper, probably with information regarding Mary's maintenance results.

"Whoa, wait, today's generation still uses paper?" I thought, quirking my eyebrows in amazement.

Oh, brother, it appears I am not the only one here, which causes my heart to lurch even more as my embarrassment increases. Nervously watching a blonde head stare at the large monitor away from the door, I flinch as it rotates towards me.

"Oh, good morning, Blu. Looks like you found me in my little sanctuary," Frank greets.

Heeding his tone that thankfully does not sound anywhere near agitated for my sudden appearance, I allow the remainder of my body inside. Meanwhile, the rest of him rotates in front and he places his hands to his hips. His expression is very tranquil yet eager, like he is actually more than ecstatic to see me. With a darling grin, I rub my hands into a fist over my chest out of shyness.

Wow, talk about more than just a casual outfit for good taste. His fashion today is more comparable to William's three-piece suit, except in Frank's case, he has a black vest buttoned over his shirt and tie. Funny, now that I am recreating that "Men in Black" image from the other day, if he was wearing a jacket as well, the two would fit perfectly. Only things missing to fully complete the picture would be the slick shades and exotic weapons.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose I did," I agree timidly. "I had no reason to invade so I apologize if I am disturbing something."

"Oh, no, it's not a problem at all, Blu," he shakes his head and smiles. "Although, how come you're not at the dining room with the others?"

"I'd be asking you the same question, Frank," I coolly counter.

He scoffs amusingly and his grin livens to almost a cunning sneer.

"Touché, mon ami. I am just finishing up on the station's updates and guaranteeing everything will be in tip-top shape during our stay. Speaking of which, I was informed you will be establishing your camera system for any of the unusual sightings we might encounter. When are you planning to start activating them? Like today?" he asks.

"Yes, I will grab the task by the horns right after breakfast. I know there's a whole day ahead of me, but it's honestly not too tedious so I should be done long before dusk falls," I steadily lie.

I am only fibbing for the protection for my cameras already launched. True, I am not exactly done as there are still a couple more rooms to go, so my statement is not completely false. Nevertheless, there is no hope I will be spilling the beans of their whereabouts to anyone, at least not yet. I may be surrounded by a handful of nice folks, but that could very well be on the outside. Despite my gullibility, I barely know them and thus unsure who to trust with such classified information.

"To get this important question off my chest before forgetting, will my system somehow interfere with the station's?" I ask.

"No…I doubt they will," he replies after a short pause.

"Fair enough then."

"That's splendid the way you will follow along in your plan, and I can't wait to see what your reliable gear has to offer. Maybe, before you launch all your cameras, will you show me a little demonstration?" he bestows a pair of puppy dog eyes.

"Aww, of course I will," I kindly acknowledge, heeding the lonely pitch in his voice.

"Thanks so much. I admit, I felt quite left out when you presented them to Bill the other day."

"Bill?" I mumble in confusion. Then I receive a punch in the arm from my mind for ignorance. "Oh!"

Of course, he is referring to William. At first, I could not tell who he meant but now I remember William noting he is called Bill by his friends.

"Aw, yeah!" I blurt happily, hiding the minor displeasure of my previous vocal mistake. "I think the conventions center I frequently attend near home would be like your Heaven on earth. You would feel as giddy as a kid at a toy store."

"Oh, you can bet a million bucks on that!" he suggests. "I pointed out to him of my envy when he was able to go and I was stuck with an assiduous project that consumed the entire day. Don't worry, we had ourselves a hearty chuckle about it afterwards."

Now something else is connecting into junction with my theory. After feeling my new infatuation for Frank, I pondered if I would have fallen in love with him instead of William if he was the one viewing my demonstrations at the center. Now in this case, I wonder what would have happened if both of them were there simultaneously. I'd have either split my affection between them or decide who's better over the other. The latter would feel like I am going with a mate who emerged victorious after a bitter fight for my love.

"Oh, I will bestow you the opportunity before I use them up. In fact, as consolation, I can show you my other invention which I call the 'T-Laser'."

"T-Laser?" he asks quizzically.

"Yep. In fact, you're the first of the team to know about it. It was what I used to wake you up yesterday during our crisis. You might remember feeling something like stings on your cheek, right? Those were merely tiny balls of spark I shot from the device," I explain.

"Was that what it was?" he says, wrapping his fingers on his chin underneath a bewildered expression. "Hmm, I can vaguely recall those 'stings'. It was like somebody gave me a sharp slap on the face. Then, there you were packing something minuscule away into some pouch," he continues.

"That was the T-Laser. Well, in relation to our topic, there's something I've been wanting to ask you and I'm sure you anticipated it. How was it you passed out in the first place?" I ask solemnly.

"Uh, I haven't a clue," he answers with uncertainty. "For one moment, I started to not feel well. I grew groggier until everything went black."

"Sigh, that sounds quite iffy if you ask me, Frank," I glower sternly. "Your speculation reminds me of those investigative shows I occasionally watch on television. There were scenarios where the apprehended suspects would dream of some evasive explanation in order to be left off the hook easier."

"I truly don't know, Blu. However, I do have a faint memory of my head thrown against the flying stick from that first, major turbulence as I was blacking out, which definitely did it for me. Otherwise, I cannot even comprehend what came before that," he firmly counters.

Deciding to subside on our dispute, I sulk in defeat. I suppose I did jump the gun a little quickly there, for accusing Frank of something he is likely not at fault for. Besides, it is fruitless to ring up any redundant conflicts.

"Okay, what's past is past, maybe…" I admit softly. "I was just curious of the obvious, you know, especially after what nearly happened to me."

Frank approaches me and cups a hand to my shoulder. Hesitantly, I look up.

"Hey, don't feel too bad," he warmly reassures me. "I understand your interest for more knowledge on yesterday's incident. That was, without a doubt, a serious trauma we all faced, but more so for you. I could recite Bill's exact honoring words on your courageous effort, but I personally owe you my utmost gratitude for helping us escape that horrible mess. I just hadn't the time to announce my condolences when you exploded into tears."

"I appreciate the praise and thanks, Frank. That sure was some crazy plan I cooked up which more or less demanded a try, no matter how ludicrous it was. Oddly, a part of me was recommending to fly the helicopter if that didn't work, as no one else had the courage to volunteer. I don't have any real experience flying, though."

"Sounds like a very logical reason why you had to what you did. Nothing else was going to be done in time and the other passengers were too scared to tackle such a dangerous task."

I nod slowly into blank space and my shy grin broadens as I flashback to the moment when everyone applauded for me behind the towering seats.

"Hmm, oh!" I peep loudly, realizing I had drifted off under Frank's tolerant gaze. "Sorry about that. My mind wandered off elsewhere like a curious child."

His countenance becomes more cunning, immediately restoring my memories of William's devilish reactions towards me, even if this isn't precisely alike.

"Not a problem," he replies calmly. "I think I know what you were contemplating and that's okay."

His deeper tone there is causing goosebumps on my skin to bulge out. I give him my familiar timid grin as I've given William the times he intimidated me in an amusing manner.

"Well…" he mumbles, peeking over his shoulder as an intermittent beeping fills the control room. "Afraid I can't talk much longer, even though it was a real pleasure meeting you this morning, intentional or not. To be honest, I've wanted to see you personally after hearing Bill's description about you, since I do have a soft spot for modest girls."

"Aww," I hum happily. "Well, don't sweat it, Frank. It sure was fun chatting with you, too. I will let you return to work, and sooner or later today, I'll show you my cameras when the time is impeccable. Don't let your tight schedule rob you of the most important meal of the day."

"Don't worry, I won't skip breakfast. Catch you later, Blu," he says.

Not taking his stylish smirk off me, he pats once on my shoulder before I desert his loose grip for the door.

As I tread to the northern passage as originally planned, my mind returns to cracking the mystery of how Frank lost his consciousness while we were caught in such a nasty blizzard. His recollection that he slammed his head against the stick sounded feasible enough, but before that is suspicious. I can only predict right away somebody spiked his morning coffee and meant to sabotage our mission before we even reached our destination. Whatever the case, it's very incredulous and coincidental it occurred at the worst possible time.


	12. Chapter 11

A minute after visiting Frank in his "sanctuary" as he jokingly referred the control room, I arrive at the main lobby, keeping a reasonably safe distance while gazing at the dining room's door. My stomach once again grumbles desperately for grub, which I honestly can't blame it for because I siphoned my morning energy on the tank in Frank and William's bedroom trying to kill me. Everyone must be somewhat concerned where I've been this whole time, including Ben after we spoke a little while ago. I look around the foyer as the slideshow of perturbed teamsters play in my head like a movie flick, encouraging me to snicker before stepping through the door.

As predicted, the stupid door alerted everyone I am finally here with its obnoxious noise. I keep a straight countenance embedded on my face as every head spins my way with glassy eyes momentarily before returning to their conversations. Two of them, however, remained fixated on me like a pair of possessed dolls who constantly keep watch no matter where their target goes. Sitting in the second chair by the table's edge closer to me is Ben, readily waving at me like a dynamic child overly enthusiastic to see me. Then the guest in front of him, who is partially blocking him from my vision, causes me to cringe as the familiar infatuation returns. There is William, greeting me silently with his usual sneer away from Ben's sight.

Ignoring both my hunger pangs and their sticky attention, I study every inch of the dining room with intrigue, allowing my eyes to instead receive their delightful candy.

This seems to be the largest room in the station, which is apparently night and day compared to the control room I last visited. Only a small bar is cutting this cavernous enclosure by a third of the free space. Bar stools of sturdy and polished oak line up adjacent in front of the counter, which is also made of the same wood to match. At the center of the counter is a small door that seems to lift upward for someone to pass through if needed. Bottles of shapes and sizes abut each other along the shelves behind the bar, and quaint photographs and mirrors hang at various places to give the space a more stimulating appearance. It may not be as fancy as the tavern William and I visited the other night, but at least it has its own succulent wood scent to enjoy.

A large portrait of a man by the kitchen's metallic door frame keeps me distracted from the remainder of the dining room. Even though we are in a generation where black-and-white photography has long gone obsolete, probably this portrait was deprived of its natural colors on purpose to keep the old nostalgia the poser wanted. Thinking it's William for a second, I realize this man has a slightly different countenance and there's a pencil-thin mustache above his lips. I further deduce it must be his father, Maxwell Mayfield, since he is the founder of 'Mary' and I don't actually know what he looks like. Wow, even with my blind guessing, who could blame me for making that assumption so quickly? He in this younger appearance and William look very much alike. It's as if Maxwell is here with us instead, although he would be a few years older than his static image.

Thankfully moving away from Maxwell's addicting glare, my eyes freely scan the rest of this vast room. Across the bar is where the dining room table stands, creating a wide enough aisle in the middle for the kitchen. It can comfortably accommodate ten people with plenty of space in between each chair, so people will not accidentally bump their rears against their colleagues as they squeeze by to either sit down or leave. Finally, to my current right is a third door to the public restroom, as shown by the LED picture of a simple man and woman together, holding hands, it seems.

While avoiding William and Ben's hypnotic grips of their stare, I proceed to the kitchen now that my gut is throwing an angry fit. Despite my shyness, I do not hesitate to give them a brief glance before disappearing through the door frame.

The kitchen doesn't appear to be as spacious as the dining room, due to the large cooking island at the very heart that is unattached to the walls. There are a couple of shelves for holding ingredients that don't require cooling and a cleaning station for any dirty dishes. On one side of the cooking island is where the food preparation takes place; it has several wooden cutting boards and steel drawers underneath for storing sharp cutlery, utensils, and other tools. There is also room behind the boards for placing prepared meals for guests to take whenever they are ready. The other half of the island is where the magic brews; it has two sets of four gas stoves and two convectional ovens.

Currently, the frying pans are sizzling away on the flaming stoves with food while Watson is merrily humming a tune. Wait…is he reciting Eric Clapton's "Layla"? Wow, it's amazing how that old song is still remembered after all these years, and he's tempting me to sing it with him in a duet. Lifting his head from the concentration of the pans, he sees me standing and his humming stops short.

"Oh, good morning!" he chirps in a cheerful tone. Perhaps…a tad too cheerful.

"Morning, Watson. How are you?" I ask.

"I am doing fabulous, thanks for asking. I feel like I have been blessed with energy today, like a flower gracefully opening its delicate petals to invite the warm sunlight. Oh, Andrea, I was informed anonymously you wanted something special this morning, so I went ahead and batched up some flapjacks for you," he says, pointing at my waiting plate with also a couple fried eggs and link sausages.

I gasp and squeal joyfully as I make a grab for it.

"Oh, gosh! Thanks!" I exclaim in higher spirits.

"Aw, don't mention it. Nothing brightens my morning than to hear someone admire my cooking with exhilaration. It was also an excellent idea, as I had plenty of batter left for everyone else. Hope you enjoy them!" he ends on a wide grin, revealing the light-pink lips under his fuzzy facial.

Reacting with my own smile exposing my teeth like the Cheshire cat, I snatch the bottle of organic syrup nearby and smother my pancakes in it. After setting it down, I give Watson one more round of gratitude before exiting the galley, holding the edge of the plate and a pair of utensils in one hand. While figuring out where to sit, I throw Ben a wink, knowing it's him who told Watson about my craving for pancakes. With a sly expression, he gestures his hand like a pistol towards me and clicks his tongue in response. With a light chortle, I resume my focus on finding a free seat. I could choose one of the bar stools behind me, but even as a modest person, I prefer other people's company.

Spotting an empty chair separating Owen and Lisa at the other end of the dining table, I tiptoe closer and crane my neck over their shoulders.

"Is this seat taken?" I ask politely.

They turn away from their breakfast and look at me.

"No, it's free," they calmly say in an almost perfect unison.

With that invitation, I conveniently set my food down and lower my butt onto the chair. Comfortable, I ready the utensils in my hands and start sawing into the flapjacks, eager for the first bite. Then I sense an unpleasant vibe settling over me once again and I chuckle girlishly under my breath. As I peek over to the other side of the table, sure enough, William is peacefully gazing at me along with Ben. Seriously, since my arrival, they just haven't taken their eyes off me. I wouldn't even doubt if they started talking about me, as Ben probably shared sparse comments about me beforehand. Choosing to reluctantly accept the center of attention, I return to my breakfast with the new awareness of being watched.

"Hello, Andrea," Lisa suddenly greets. "Sorry that I didn't say 'hi' earlier."

I silently thank her for helping me slip from my discouraging situation and rotate my head towards her.

"Well, good morning, Lisa. How's it going today?"

"It's quite delightful, I should say. Hey, I'm relieved to know I'm not the only girl on this excursion."

"You and me both, Lisa. I was honestly on the same notion in the helicopter yesterday, until Ben got to you whilst introducing everyone to me."

"You also seem to be in a much livelier mood this morning."

"Yep, nothing that a good night sleep couldn't benefit. I do appreciate your devotion for me regarding yesterday's episode, however I much like to have it all behind me. Sorry if I am sounding a bit rude there."

"It's perfectly fine, Andrea. I understand if you prefer to not touch down on the subject any longer to help forget about it," she grins.

"Actually, I am quite lenient so I am not TOO bothered by it per se, and I know you're just inquisitive for my well-being. I am just more relieved that my electronics never flew out of my pockets as I clinging onto that pole, otherwise I would have become a useless asset to the team if I survived," I coolly explain.

"Were these the same equipment you showed Owen before that?" she asks curiously.

Overhearing his name in the discussion, Owen steers away from his breakfast and leers at us.

"Did you honestly have that device in your possession when you nearly got thrown out of the compartment, Andrea?" he asks, slightly surprised.

"Yes, it never left my pocket after you handed it back to me," I reply. "Plus, I had another of my inventions that I haven't presented to anyone yet. I do want to personally thank both you and William for saving my life yesterday, Owen."

"Well, something needed to be done," he solemnly confirms. "You were in dire jeopardy. No, we ALL were. Nobody in their right mind would have allowed a person to be left in torment when they demanded assistance."

"You're right, Mr. Carter," Lisa complies. "There isn't somebody who would be THAT heartless to just sit and do nothing, like Andrea's courageous attempt to revive Frank."

"I was just following my instincts, honestly. So, away from our current topic, there is something somewhat personal I wish to ask you if that's alright. How did you two earn a spot on this mission?" I ask, sharing glances between them.

"Oh, William and I knew each other back in high school," Lisa begins. "He used to take me out on dates every weekend and we relished every moment of our time together. After graduation, we bid our farewells and haven't heard a peep of the other since. Last week, however, finally broke the ice that kept us separated. You would not believe the surprise I received when I got an anonymous phone call from him. At first, I hadn't a clue who it was until he revealed his full name, and even then, it was unconvincing until he reminded me of our frequent dates from years past. I don't know how long we stayed on the line just chatting away about our personal lives after our departure, but it felt like a whole day. Then, towards the final minutes, he said he was going to Greenland in search of spirits and asked if I was available to tag along. I hastily obliged without putting much thought into it."

"Aw, you two sounded like such high school sweethearts," I compliment, my voice melting away with affection. "I can imagine you winning the prom's king and queen award for your senior year."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "Oh, goodness, I totally forgot about that! Now that you unveiled an old memory, we actually did!"

"Really?!" I spout out excitably, gaping my jaw ajar.

"Yeah, and it was a close one, too! We were neck-to-neck with a tough pair, and in the end, we earned the final vote. They also made a whimsical comment that William wasn't the only king in history who was a bearer in his name."

"I wouldn't doubt that in the least bit," I agree. "So, why did he contact you so suddenly after all these years?"

"I think it had something to do with my profession as a spiritual guide. One year in high school, I forget when exactly, I attended an after-school organization every Friday afternoon. There were only a handful of us present, but we always enjoyed diving deep into these supernatural discussions. We touched on subjects mainly about different immortal species that exist in the afterlife and what their purposes were. I grew so accustomed to them that I decided to dedicate my life to them, similar to how people focus on studying plants and animals. My guess is William reminisced the countless times I talked his ears off about this stuff while we were hanging out, and figured I'd love to view our wily apparitions here," she blabs on.

"Hmm, this conversation has sparked an inkling I won't mind sharing with you since we're on the subject about him."

"Don't worry, I won't squeal a word of it to anyone else. It will be just between us girls," she promises, leaning in closer to hear.

Shooting a nervous glance over my shoulder, I confirm that William is still occasionally watching me while conversing with Ben. With a weak sigh, I move in towards Lisa so only she can hear, although I am less concerned if Owen hears this one.

"It's about how William was flattered by my overly shy nature. During our meeting the other night, he pointed out other women who have vocally adored his appearance. Yet, I think he has a profound compassion for us females in general," I explain.

"I don't disagree but what makes you think that?"

"You probably witnessed the moment after I returned to my seat and started bawling like a scared baby, the way he devoted his time and care to me. That split second before I exploded, I caught the dead center of his eyes, which was filled with so much sympathy emitted from his soul. The way he held me was like he was protecting me and I greatly appreciated it."

I fall quiet as that final bit escapes my lips and gaze at Lisa, hoping I made at least some sense about my feelings. She gives me a composing grin that doesn't show confusion at all.

"Emotions can be mysterious to comprehend at times, but when you see it in people just by their body language, you can tell. You're actually correct he has a compassion for other women, as I've noticed it myself. Aside from me, he's helped other female students with their schoolwork and was never hesitant to step in. Maybe he wanted to protect them from failing in their classes, who knows. He then made a clear note to me he wasn't interested in getting too close with them and I was content with it. I will confess, when he cuddled over you and you ceased your harder crying, I was somewhat surprised at first because you are a newcomer to our team. Then I remembered his previous desire. I swear, though, men can be so predictable sometimes. Oh, um, no offense, Mr. Carter," she explains, quickly piping in his direction at the final remark in the realization he's still listening.

"None taken, Miss McIntyre," he informs indifferently.

"Oh, good," she sighs.

I chuckle lightly in my throat while taking in another bite of my flapjacks.

"Now to answer your question, Andrea, my case for being here is…I sort of invited myself to the party," Owen replies.

"You did? How?" I ask.

"Here is my story: I met Mayfield at a special welfare he held weeks back for a charitable event. After we grasped time away from the pack for a private discussion, he noted his desire of traveling to the Greenland tundra for an important excursion and was hiring professionals. I asked if I could join out of interest, which he wasn't convinced at first until I talked my way into it."

"And here you are now," I point out.

"Precisely, Andrea. Here I am," he confirms slightly gruff.

Laying his utensils on the edges of his plate, he leans in closer toward us.

"I am here mainly to investigate the station and whatever dangers might befall as I was dutifully notified by Mayfield. Thus, I am planning on a ritual during our stay soon. I know it's a surefire way to communicate with these beings by summoning them directly," he discloses.

"Oh, you're going to set up a séance? When and where?" Lisa asks.

"Not certain yet but I think the laboratory will suffice because it is large enough and the furniture can be shifted around with a little muscle. Depending on how fast that will take with maybe an extra hand available, I expect the ritual to commence later today or tomorrow, and I recommend everyone to be there."

"That won't be a problem, Mr. Carter. Just don't plan it while I am on my own little meditation today, okay?" she winks.

"In the meantime for me, I will fulfill my task of activating my camera system around the station. Since you know what they are capable of, Owen, if any ghosts were to arise, they will inform me," I chime in.

"Ah, yes, your cameras. I almost forgot about them," he mutters. "Yes, go ahead with that and I can stall the gathering if you need more time. We will need every sort of inside help we can muster."

"It won't take too long to launch them all over the place. All it requires is a little legwork and contentment of their locations."

"Goodness, I must say that throughout my participation at my after-school club, it's left me with no faith that even today's technology can mingle with immortals," Lisa mentions, baffled. "Did it strike you as odd the moment you discovered your system's…how should I put it…'gift'?"

"Yes, it did, after observing those wisps with my very eyes while testing my equipment recently. My mind constantly assumed the most sane explanation that they were just malfunctioning by producing fake images. On the other hand, I am enthralled that I saw them, like spotting a strange animal I never knew existed before."

"We're on the same boat then, Andrea," she smiles. "You seemed to have developed a similar interest for these immortals as I did."

"I am not so sure that your machinery has this so-called 'gift', Andrea," Owen calmly counters. "After all, you designed them into reality from your own brain."

"Wait a minute…" I murmur softly. "Are you saying I have this gift?"

He nods in response and his grin broadens.

Okay, I don't know what to think of this. I seriously don't believe I have this special talent, as I created my cameras for no other logic than to provide enhanced security for homes. Now I wonder if William somehow knew this all along and hence why he picked me over those other inventors with their camera systems the other day. Trying not to express too much shock, I quietly return Owen's grin and nod. Then turning towards Lisa, she has returned to her light meal, but briefly shows a peaceful condolence that suggests I should not be too worried.

"_Eh, I suppose they are right,"_ I think, shrugging in acceptance before eating my breakfast in silence.


	13. Chapter 12

While finishing up the final morsels of breakfast on my plate, everyone around me start rising to their feet almost simultaneously to deliver their dirty dishes to the kitchen. Lisa and Owen, however, spare a second to give me their condolences before vacating their chairs. I persisted in my vale of silence after our dialogue concluded a little while ago, still skeptical of Owen's hypothesis that I bear a unique talent of detecting ghosts through my machinery. That caused thoughts to spark on opposite ends of the spectrum, leaving me trapped in the middle of the impenetrable decision.

Some people, after reappearing in the dining room from the kitchen, trot to the public restroom while still conversing with some of their brethren, before ultimately leaving to resume their daily objectives. As I watch each member pursue each other like clueless lemmings, I feel someone's hand brush lightly against my other shoulder and then notice a blob of black sliding into my corner vision. I look up to see William towering over me, giving me another devilish smirk before departing with the rest. Inevitably, my body freezes up and I hold in my breath for his gesture. I gawk stupidly at the now motionless door for a minute, until I snap out of the awkward trance with a chuckle.

After more minutes tick past, as the last bite dances between my teeth, I stand up and grab my scrapped-clean dish. Throughout the duration, I was beginning to feel forlorn since the dining room has been entirely deserted. At least it is not deprived of any sound from the open kitchen.

Watson is currently at the cleaning station, hovering over a sink broad enough that it seems a miniature asteroid landed here. Leaning towers of plates, pots, and pans bow his way at an arm's reach, and a pile of utensils lie aside the sink's edge. He seems completely ignorant of my presence, both due to the vigorous work and the piercing sound of spouting water from the long faucet that cranes over the sink like a swan. Instead of shouting for his attention, I simply stride to the towers and carefully set my plate on top of the shortest column. As I slide my utensils in with the others, he finally acknowledges me with a brief gratitude before returning to the cleaning.

Before exiting the galley, I halt in my tracks as my hand sweeps over the gun in my pocket, remembering why I have it here. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Watson with interest as he thoroughly scrubs through one of the larger pans over the sink. Behind him, the refrigeration room's door is gaping wide, encouraging me coolly. Not allowing my brain to produce any second thoughts against this swift arrangement, I sneak past him while he's not looking and dart inside. My heart skips a beat for the mischievous act, but I doubt there will be another flawless opportunity to enter his bedroom in this position. I also don't feel diligent about revolving around the exceedingly longer route throughout the station. I moan with adversity for his closed bedroom door. Waiting patiently until the perfect second arises when Watson starts shuffling a few plates with a load of clatter, I bolt for it.

The instant the door shuts behind me, I nearly jump at the detection of a low hum entering my ears. Paralyzed with fear, I look around anxiously for the source in case I accidentally triggered another alarm and something else is coming to kick my butt. Seconds following, I spot a small object appearing from the foot of the bed. Scurrying about on the rugged floor, it then u-turns back to where it came from. Upon utter relief that was not a tank, my torso heaves with a heavier breathing as I gasp for air. Viewing the object in my psychological picture, I realize it looked more like a…mouse, and there's no way that could pose a threat to me.

With bravery seeping back into my veins, I creep towards the limited area where I saw the mouse until I catch a glimpse of something new. A white cat is sitting feet away from the bed, paying full attention to the scampering mouse as it moves in a figure-eight motion. My heart immediately replaces the tension I first acquired from that jump scare with melting emotion. Every time the toy zips by close enough, the cat would lunge a paw at it and miss. It isn't even daring to chase after it, although it is in a crouching prowl ready to pounce. The toy itself does not seem to be losing any energy in the winding seconds, as if it's a real mouse.

Rooted to my feet, I relish every inch of the image before me with adoration that I can think of nothing else. As my hand involuntarily lands over the bulging pocket again, I suddenly recall my reason for being here in the first place and yank out the gun. Aware that Watson's bedroom is slightly different by the extra door to the pantry room, I resolve on aiming above his bed just beneath the ceiling. Content, I retreat my weapon and tiptoe closer to the cat to find an appropriate spot to sit on the rugged floor without blocking the toy's path. The feline pays absolutely no attention to me like I don't exist. In fact, it never reacted when I first came in.

"Hello, Kitty," I greet it.

Eventually, one of its ears twitches and it gazes at me with apathy, studying me for a few seconds before resuming focus on the mouse. I sigh in minor disappointment, but at least I'm satisfied enough it finally noticed me. I continue to watch them peacefully, resting my chin in the open cups of my palms with elbows digging into my lap. Suddenly, the door behind flings open with its obnoxious cacophony and I yelp in fright. Spinning my torso swiftly in its direction, my heart plummets at the sight of Watson. He abruptly screeches to a halt the instant he sees me and his fire-red eyebrows lower to better shape his bewildered glare. His apron, covered in food stains and water patches, is hanging over one of his loosely crossed arms.

"Andrea? What are you doing in my room?" he sternly asks.

I stumble clumsily to my feet, nearly losing my balance in the process and stare directly into his eyes with my bulging pair. I stutter nothing but gibberish as my brain rummages for the perfect answer. I must not let him know I launched a camera in here to arouse any discomfort. Then I notice his expression loosen as he shifts his head toward the cat behind me after hearing the familiar hum of the toy and glances back at me.

"Oh, did you come to see Snowflake?" he asks serenely.

"Um…y-yes, sir," I softly stammer. "How…how did you know?"

"When I saw the way you poured out your heart for him last night, I was willing to offer you an invitation to my room so you can see him whenever possible."

"You were going to do that…for me?"

"Mm-hmm," he hums.

He readily folds up his apron and lays it on the table, which has several more aprons, chef hats, and patterned hand towels all neatly sorted in stacks.

"So, Snowflake is his name?" I ask timidly.

"Yes, Andrea," he replies.

With a warming grin now stretched across his face, I can't help but reveal my own smile as equally modest as my tone. I back up as he walks past me until he is between Snowflake and the mouse. He sticks out his foot and the toy collides with it, finally bringing it to a stop. Snowflake moves from his stance and mews at Watson with annoyance, wondering why he has to cease the fun. Watson crouches beside the flustered feline and nuzzles behind his head.

"Snowflake, there is someone who wants to meet you, then I'll let you go back to your toy, okay?" he coaxes the animal before picking him up. Snowflake responds with a grumpy snarl resonating deep within his chest cavity.

As if dragged closer by Watson's persuading stare for me with the little beast ready in his arms, I approach them. Snowflake is now looking down over his elbow at the toy below, with his head mostly turned away. Hesitantly, I reach out a hand to not frighten him, but before I got too close, the cat involuntarily darts his eyes at me and swipes a paw, narrowly nicking the end of one of my fingernails with his claws. I retreat on nimble reflexes and inspect the damage for any open wounds.

"Oh, come now, you silly cat. She just wants to pet you," Watson scowls at him.

Fully alert, he continues to sulk angrily at me, suggesting I should not get near him again. Expressing my growing defeat, I shake my head solemnly at Watson and he becomes sympathetic for the change of plans. He cautiously places Snowflake back down and winds up his toy to the max. Releasing it, Snowflake returns to his prowl as the mouse resumes its continuous progress, swishing his tail across the floor like a whip.

"I sincerely apologize for that, Andrea," he regrets, patting me on the shoulder to help cheer me up. "He'll warm up to you soon enough. He's just a very stubborn cat who's difficult to impress once he's focused on other things."

"It's okay, I'll be fine," I softly ensure, rubbing my hands close to my chest. "I guess he didn't appreciate the way we're disturbing his play time."

"Yeah, he's been like that since I bought that wretched toy for him. I didn't want him to be too bored during our stay, but like a kid who wastes an entire day playing video games, I think he's enjoying it too much."

"Hey, I'm at least content to have met him," I comment more cheerfully, hiding away the delaying displeasure. "How long have you owned him?"

"Close to a year, after my previous one passed of old age," he replies.

"Oh, how old was he, or she?" I ask.

"Twenty-six."

"Wow, that's the same age as me," I mention in heightened surprise.

"I thought you were a few years younger," he points out, narrowing his eyes.

"No, I am at a mature age. You're not the only one who recently presumed I was younger than I honestly am," I smirk with pride. "Anyway, that's pretty old for a cat."

"Yes, it is. Since my younger adolescence, she and I always took pleasure in our company together. She also provided as a loyal confidant to me when I didn't have many friends to hang out with. Whenever I recited passages of my improved days, she would purr happily. On days that didn't soar as high, she would cuddle me for comfort and actually lick my fingers like popsicles. As she was nearing the end, we spent as much time possible and I kept her warm in my arms until that moment chimed."

A single tear trickles down my cheek and I moan in sadness.

"I am so sorry, Watson. It sounded you two had a very close relationship, despite you being a human and a cat. You would've made perfect soul mates."

"Heh, you are correct about that statement. If she wasn't a cat, our love would have coincided in holy matrimony. Still, she's fine as she was," he chuckles gravelly. "After I had her cremated and stored in an urn, I searched weeks for another cat at the adoption center close to home. One that would remind me solely of her by mainly color, because I know there won't be a matched personality. Snowflake was a kitten when I chose him, thus it took him awhile to adjust to me. At times I was willing to play with him, he didn't seem to care about my leisure attention. I suppose he's more of a loner because he's always found his own activities."

"I would have adopted a cat, or better yet, a kitten myself if I wasn't too indulged in work to care for one. I don't want it to feel too isolated when I can only spare time to feed it or give it a quick stroke. Shoot, my project held me so far back, I hardly put much effort into my normal chores. I am just fortuitous that my apartment hasn't turned into a pigsty, except for the bedroom," I explain, blushing at the end.

"I know that responsibility on my own perspective quite well, Andrea. Luckily, Snowflake has been generous in my schedule, since again, he plans his own days. He sometimes doesn't mind giving me company while I work actually, but he's also realized I am a great chef. I've spoiled him enough that he flat refuses to eat any regular cat food; instead, he expects a scrumptious meal out of these hands," he confirms, dangling his webbed-out fingers.

"He certainly has a loving owner. He is awarded with meals no other cats are used to," I comment.

"Thanks very much."

As seconds drag by of our peace now levitating around us, I continue to observe Snowflake and my small grin unfurls more.

"Oh, um," I mumble timidly, remembering Watson and I are still on our amiable conversation. "Again, sorry for invading your bedroom without you knowing. Even my heart knew it was wrong when I snuck in."

"Don't be. I'll admit, however, I am surprised you managed to zip past me in the kitchen," he says.

"Well, since you were distracted with those dishes, it wasn't difficult. Once you started shuffling them around, that was the chance I struck so you wouldn't hear the sound of the door."

"Again, I'm impressed. Nonetheless, you are more than welcome to spend time with him. In fact, doing so may get him to open up more freely to you. Just don't come at around bedtime," he winks.

"Pfft, I don't plan on turning a visit into a sleepover, although that sounds somewhat fun," I mention.

"I really came in here for a quick shower and obtain a new apron before returning to those dishes, then I have to figure out what to make you all for lunch later. You are free to stay if you wish," he brightly suggests.

"As much as I appreciate your present generosity, I can't. I need to use today's time frame efficiently to set up my camera system about the station, even if I'm confident it won't take too extensively."

"Okey dokey, that's a reasonable plan. Get that done to shove one concerning task out of the way before having fun."

"Thank you for being very forgiving about my unexpected intrusion."

"Anytime."

We conclude our meeting with a warm handshake that I offered first, then I show myself to the other door leading to the hallway outside that's in the direction of the watch tower. Cruising to a stop after his door closes, I respire in relief and smirk at my small accomplishment. Now that just leaves Ben's room before my objective is complete for the time being. After that, I can continue spending the remaining hours getting personally acquainted with those I haven't yet.


	14. Chapter 13

With my mind set on the string bean Ben next, I maneuver my legs on a longer stride to his bedroom, filled with a hope he will be there and I can launch one more camera. I will concede that my stealth mission into Watson's room was actually quite exuberant as well as risky, and I'm happy to have hung out with Snowflake despite his antsy isolation. It's a relief Watson wasn't grumpy about me entering without his permission. Now with my unlimited pass to his bedroom, I can visit whenever its convenience will not interfere with my schedule. I figured to exit his room not on the way back to the dining room via the refrigeration room and the kitchen. This may be a slightly greater walk to Ben's but I always seek opportunities for exercise. Plus, I was planning on stopping by my room first for a wash-up, since I never grasped that task back at the dining room's restrooms as half the group did.

During my walk through the spacious hallways and segments, I can't help but feel a disturbing peace bouncing off these hollow walls as I listen closely, which creates a haunting effect. To think that these spirits can freely roam these hallways under their own will without being caught by mortal eyes is quite astounding. I exhale slowly as last night's occurrence springs into view again, leaving me doubtful about whether my cameras are truly adept for the job. When that stranger meandered the corridors close to my position, they didn't detect the elusive presence at all, whereas the doors and lights reacted to a supposedly normal body. Is it possible they were already aware of my cameras' whereabouts and were simply avoiding them by being very reticent? I seriously repress that thought because I posed high faith in my equipment before the beginning of this expedition, thus I anticipated their best performance.

Shortly after my insignificant duty in my room, I am gazing at Ben's door while keeping distance. Curiously looking over my shoulder to stall some time, the snow outside still falling in heavy sheets, making it nearly impossible to see at an extended stretch despite the enhanced lighting from the late morning sun shining through the opaque ceiling of clouds. A devious misdeed swells in my mind, tempting me to step out and observe the weather more personally. Then I scoff at the exposure of being caught a second time. Maybe this joy of experiencing the snowy wonderland is not the precise reason but rather an excuse to make William worry about me again. As much as he cares, I don't want to act immature and wreak havoc under his nose. He is, after all, the boss hence committed in the utmost safety provided for us. Everything he means, he means well, and I solely respect that.

Focusing back on Ben's door, I inspect my gun for any remaining ammo of cameras and cock it a couple times. It then trades places with the camera device in the same pocket, as I want to clarify if Ben is indeed back in his room after the conclusion of breakfast. I rewind the more recent footage until I spot him backing away from the door this time, then resume play to watch him pause in front of the LED panel before stepping inside. Without hesitation after slipping the gadget back in my pocket, I proceed forth. Even if this is only for my primary assignment, it still won't hurt to pay him a visit since he did offer the invitation back in the helicopter yesterday.

Upon entering, I recall the past flick of what Ben's room looked from the camera's perspective outside. Now, I am not so certain anymore if I've just stumbled into a greenhouse, but rather this enclosure is more like a rainforest. My jaw droops with awe as I observe every flourishing flora.

Several giant plants and at least a couple dozen smaller ones, including those on the window sill and the table, are housed in chocolate-brown pots. Surrounded by the flora on the table is an ant farm, and judging by their bright red intensity from across the room, they must be fire ants. I watch as they mindlessly scatter about their glass prison without a single break, while more pile on top of food scraps Ben left for them. Underneath the table are sacks of fertilizer, numerous more empty pots of various sizes, and several jugs of water in front of everything else. Leaning over Ben's bed like a composed crane is a tree, which seems quite cramped by the walls and ceiling enclosing around it. Blue fruits the size of tennis balls hang from its branches, and most of them look a tad overripe by the dark bruises dressing their skins.

Right now, Ben is standing by the table, pouring water into a plant relatively his height. Rotating his head my way, his dull expression instantly brightens.

"Andrea! Such a delight to see you drop by in my greenhouse! I must warn all my first-time guests though: both of these Noxious Thorn bushes are very lethal and will mercilessly punish you with their red thorns if you stray too close," he insists, pointing at the one in front of him and another mere feet to my right.

I obediently sidestep away from the plant with a nervous glare and approach Ben cautiously while still observing the others.

"My, my, Ben! You sure do have a green thumb!" I compliment into singsong.

"Ah, more than just a green thumb, my amiable colleague," he corrects in a convincing tone. "I like to brag that both my hands are green with serenity and probably more. Whenever I discover fascinating plants like these, the exhilaration just pulses through my veins. It's like leaves on a tree flapping excitably in gusts of wind. As a result, it's frankly cost me my social life but I'm not too bothered by it."

"Since you're enjoying their company, you are not utterly lonely," I note, referring to the plants.

"Yes, that is true. They say a plant thrives happily by hearing music or being talked to, although they don't exactly have ears to listen."

He crouches for another pitcher of water in exchange for the empty one gripped in his hand. Risen back to full height, he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his lumpy nose and continues watering his Noxious Thorn. Studying the picture in full view, I arch my eyebrows with interest.

"Enlighten me, Ben, what kind of "lethal" action do these vile thorns unleash?" I ask.

"Umm…well, let's say no one has lived to tell the tale on that one," he replies; my expression molds into minor horror. "It's not they are poisonous per se but their unique effect is equally as fatal if not more. How people have died from it is a very enigmatic death, too. I am wearing these super thick gloves as a precaution while tending to them so I won't accidentally get pricked."

He lifts his hands to show his leather gloves to me, which I nod in compliance.

"I was debating on moving that one to a better spot," he focuses our attention on the smaller one by the door. "It is younger than this one thus less threatening, however, its thorns can still be nasty. If you get stung by it, you'll end up with flu-like symptoms for a couple days."

"Ugh, I despised those episodes of getting down with the flu years back. I haven't experienced another case since but I can remember like I recently fell ill. Those were definitely not fun whatsoever, considering the high fever, the aches, it's…uhh!" I retort with repulsion, shuddering at those flashbacks. "Why are you constantly watering that guy? Aren't you worried it might drown?"

"Believe me, Andrea, this sucker prefers to be flooded. It has proven useful at places that frequently receive too much annual rain, and don't worry, they gradually give the water back to mother nature for future precipitation. Don't ask me how, because even that bit still baffles me. Since it demands water every hour, I have to stick around to ensure it won't wither. It's truly because of this guy and his younger twin that my leisure time has been washed down the drain. I just…haven't had any opportunities to build up a relationship with anyone who is tolerant enough to understand," he discloses.

I gawk at him stupefied for the longest minute, both for his plant's endless thirst and why he sounds so tranquil about it. Deciding to set that amazement aside and accept the odds, I look at the tree above his bed.

"What is that tree over there, Ben?"

"Hmm?" he hums.

I cast his attention with my finger.

"Oh, that is a Japanese Abtso tree, and they are very endangered. Only a small forest of them exist in a sanctuary in Japan, protected by law and kind souls. The fruits you see are relevant, not just for my research but for these twerps over here," he scowls at the ants, still going about their business.

"How so?"

"The fruit's juice emits a strong aroma that ants genuinely hate, likely from its chemical reaction coursing through its pulp. I wished to dig deeper into the mystery of why it really averts them, which is why I brought these pests along in the first place."

"I guess the fruit has aided you to keep them at bay whenever you're feeding them or cleaning their tank?"

"Yes, you're spot-on about that," he answers. "I know how difficult it is to manipulate every single one of them into an entire group and behave but this technique has helped tremendously. What's intriguing is as much as the ants detest the fruit, it's actually delectable. Its texture is like a peach but the taste is more exotic."

Even if this knowledge might somehow work to my advantage later on in the near future, my short attention span is eager to change the subject once again.

"So, I had a lovely chat with Lisa and Owen back in the dining room. Oh, I want to thank you again for recommending Watson to fry up those pancakes," I say.

"Pleasure is all mine. In the end, we all had some and I enjoyed them as much as you did. I figured you needed a pick-me-up to start the day."

He siphons the last drops of water for the prima donna of a flora and realizes all the jugs by his feet are empty.

"Oh, dear. Can you lend me a hand by refilling these for me, Andrea?" he asks politely.

I oblige without a word and take the one from his possession to the bathroom first. As it gradually fills with water from Ben's bathtub faucet, I snatch the rest that he kicked closer to the door frame. Once the jug becomes full enough, I carefully set it back on his waiting hands although somewhat challenging with its new weight and slowly repeat the first step with the others. All done, I carry two pitchers out at a time and slide them underneath the table, creating a jarring friction across the steel floor. With both of us now content with the completed task, I return to my original spot.

"I mentioned to them I didn't want to elaborate so much into detail regarding yesterday's event, as I'd like to forget about it," I calmly clarify, picking up from where I left off in the conversation. "I only obeyed what my intuition suggested, even if it had a chance of not working."

"It's fine if you don't want to get into it. Nevertheless, you deserve a medal for your actions," he grins. "What did you three converse about, really? I caught bits of it but not the whole meat of it."

"I mainly asked how they became part of this excursion. Owen's story was a tad suspicious yet Lisa's was more acceptable."

"Hmm, yeah, you did explain before it was your invention that acquired you a spot," he specifies. "Alright, I will reveal my side some more. I am a bio-chemist due to my high interest in these exotic plants but there is more to me than meets the eye, literally. During my limited spare time, I've conducted a separate research into these supernatural species and how they react to us humans. Here is my theory: whatever sightings happened here all these years ago according to William's information were likely caused by local natives who lived and died here throughout each incoming generation. Their souls are unfortunately trapped in limbo, unable to find their ultimate passage somewhere in the afterlife. All they can do is spook this very tundra we're standing on."

"That's a very logical hypothesis, Ben," I dutifully comment. "Speaking of William, he only gave me a brief summary of his father's mission so I have no further knowledge on the rest."

"He hasn't told you about Mary's entire history yet?" he asks with slight concern.

"Nope."

"In that case, I won't spoil it since he's informed me during breakfast. I'll leave it all to him instead."

"Hmm…" I murmur while molding my countenance into concentration.

During our lingering peace, Ben turns to the table until his back is facing me, kneeling down below the table in search of something. I quickly shove my addicting thoughts aside, realizing that while he's shifting a few pots around, this is my chance. Mimicking my previous strategy, I spin towards his door and aim the gun above its frame. After the shot, I tuck it back in my pocket and try to appear casual like nothing happened. Ben steadily rotates my way while levitating to his feet and gives me a quizzical stare.

"What was that noise?" he asks bewildered.

I know he's referring to the "thwip!". What is a foolproof response out of this predicament?

"You likely heard one of my shoes against the floor as I was moving around to observe your remaining plants. While turning towards those at the foot of your bed, I caught the floor with the tip of my sneaker and sidestepped to avoid falling over," I answer, bestowing a tiny demonstration.

He continues to glare with suspicion, which doesn't actually faze me a bit from my innocent expression. Eventually, he lets it go with a quaint grin.

"Well, I'll see if I can catch William somewhere. Sorry for deserting you like this, Ben, but after his story, I need to finish up with my primary objective of setting up my cameras around the station. Owen recommended I should do so before he starts the séance," I continue.

"Ah, that's okay, Andrea. Even if your stay was short, it was sweet and I appreciated your company. You probably don't want to hear me blab on about plants, however, especially as I water this sucker," he says.

"Hey, I wouldn't have minded staying longer if I wasn't so engaged. Um, another question about that Noxious Thorn: how were you able to stay in the dining room for a good while if you're concerned for its health?"

"I have a deep, ceramic dish this plant is sitting on for that very purpose," he confirms, pointing at it.

"Oh, I get it. Before you left, you poured tons of water into that container, allowing the plant to drink from there," I assume.

"Precisely, and yet, it's only a temporary solution. Even if I fill it to the brim, it won't take but thirty minutes to an hour for it to be completely dried up. It depends on how fast it consumes."

"Geez, Ben, I admire your intrigue for these guys due to their rarity, special properties, or whatever, but you shouldn't let them chain your entire life. There needs to be a more permanent result so you can find plenty of time away from them to help develop that social life you desired."

"You're very generous, Andrea, and I would comply. I always hoped for that, too, but that's wishful thinking. Besides, you've provided the company I needed for the day and I'm plenty content. You can return at any time if you wish to see me again. Aside from leaving the room for occasional snacks at the kitchen, I'm always here."

"Sure, I won't mind stopping by here more often, same for Watson's cat, Snowflake. I like that I've received two free reservations today. Once this intention is fulfilled, I'll be certain to use my free time sparingly for these more leisure activities."

His smirk spreads wider across his round face, and he readjusts his glasses closer to his face once more.

"Go on and get out of here!" he exclaims in a humorous pitch.

"See you later, Ben!" I bid as I exit his room.

I immediately return to my room to ditch this gun once and for all. Unpacking all the cushions from the case, I shake out the leftover cameras from the gun's holster into my palm. After slipping each camera and lastly the gun into their indentations, I pack everything back in its orderly fashion, as usual. Then I check my gadget to guarantee all the activated cameras are communicating properly with it and not a single white screen available. Satisfied with everything in working order, I shut the case and slip the gadget back into my pocket.


	15. Chapter 14

Now that I feel I have been awarded total privilege with every little string of my job attached firmly, excluding that one inaccessible door that enters to who knows where, I glare at my steel case in confusion regarding how I can first tackle my free time. I already cited to some people how I already prepared my day and I prefer to keep that false statement standing for the time being. If they ever wonder what I am up to when I am supposed to be planting cameras, I'll just acknowledge that I completed the prior setup and just started inspecting them to guarantee they're working appropriately. After all, Mary is one gigantic enclosure, like a university campus all crammed into one building that requires strenuous legwork from point A to point B.

I can seriously testify that I am digging myself into a deeper hole every time I spout another lie of my present activities. Once everything is gradually bolted down to the utter truth, it will no longer matter what I confirmed with these pleasant folks. They may have already suspected I'm hiding some real information, but it feels I'm doing it for both their sake and my cameras' locations. Most of them probably don't mind being watched, and I never intended on shooting cameras inside their bathrooms for a very dirty deed enlightened by the naughty kid livening my libido. I can always validate I'm just planting my extra set of eyes in only the bare hallways and corridors, and that should appeal to anyone. However, if I am claimed as a newcomer according to Ben's presumption yesterday, I haven't earned everyone's full trust yet. In a way, I could care less as long as my job is performing flawlessly to help catch these spirits, and I'd despise it if someone interferes by complaining they don't want cameras overlooking their shoulders.

Even though I am much inclined to finding William after Ben mentioning him during our discussion in his room, I have an inkling either one of us will seek out the other in due time. He probably has not told everyone his full elaboration of his father's history as Ben stated, so I'd rather not want to bother them and create a scene fueled by my childish excitement just because I'm searching for him. Either way, I won't mind taking a convenient stroll through 'Mary' in the meantime until that moment inevitably presents itself. Maybe I can finally grasp the chance to study every inch of her four or so walls without being distracted by my primary objective or just plain something else.

After leaving my room, I cruise casually north to Mary's main foyer. Soon tracing myself back in the same hallway section as I was visiting Ben before, my concentration drifts to the weather outside once again. Without a mind to accurately navigate the machine, my animating feet begin straying off the straight trail and towards Lisa's door. I skip with fright as its similar hissing pierces my eardrums, not at all expecting the change of events as I can feel my heart's pulse rate drop and pump harder instead of race.

I respire harshly at myself in frustration and place a palm to my face in the déjà vu. I honestly can't fathom why these dumb doors tend to alarm me so easily. It does repeatedly remind me of that day in school when one of my teachers slammed a book at the edge of my desk to wake me up after I succumbed to sleep. Not only did it trigger my small phobia for sudden noises, but that was also very embarrassing as at least twenty pairs of eyes gawked at me afterward. Since then, I have wished for that piece of memory to be wiped like a useless computer file.

Remembering my earlier experience today of accidentally opening the control room's door to find Frank inside, I am more than willing to dart off and continue my walk. Yet, as multiple voices inside Lisa's room perk my ears with interest, I sneak in closer with my curiosity deviously guiding me. As I predicted, one of the voices sounded feminine so it's Lisa. The second, however, now makes me wish I am no longer here as my infatuation returns to the light. Even though it was not my utmost task at the moment after that little bantering with my wiser conscious, it really did not take long for me to find William, who has been here above all other possible places. I never would have guessed we were basically next door to each other.

The two stand in the center of her room and they seem to be in the middle of an important conference I accidentally interrupted. Once their eyes simultaneously set on me in the abrupt silence, I gasp and cower in shock.

"Ahh, I'm so sorry I disturbed you, guys! I just ambled too close to the door by accident, that's all! I had no intention to intrude on your meeting, I swear!" I burst out in anxiety.

"Salutations, Andrea! No need to apologize. Is there anything I can help you with?" William cheerfully asks.

His tone, which insists I should actually stay put for now, is clearly not agitated by my sudden appearance. Lisa's expression, on the other hand, displays a different story and mind.

I rest my right palm against the inner perimeter of the door frame in front of me. Leaning only some weight against the arm, I don't allow too much as the razor-sharp edges of the frame's structures do feel quite painful, like several butcher knives in a perfectly fierce stance.

"Meet me in your bedroom later on, Andrea. There is something relevant I wish to tell you in person," he suggests.

"What might that be?" I asked curiously, then notice Lisa and quickly wish I never said that. "Oh, never mind, I will find out in time. Okay, let's set up a schedule on that because I have those cameras to set up today and that might take awhile."

At this point, as my next fib enters their ears, I feel like washing out my mouth with soap right away.

"Oh, that's right! I almost forgot about that, but then I've started getting quite busy on my own list of duties," William chuckles. "How many are you planning to use?"

"Well, after scouting the presently available corridors, I estimated it will take most if not all my cameras to cover 'Mary'. I designed fifty of them but I believe it's enough. As much as it was quite a bundle to create so many, you can never have too much," I answer.

"Will later this afternoon at around three be more adequate for you?"

"Yes, I think so. I should either be finished or at a good stopping point by then."

"Excellent! It's a date then," he concludes with a sly wink.

With his uplifting words now giving me the okay to depart, like I have been freed of this predicament as I desired moments ago, I react with my normal timid grin and a light nibbling on my lip in compliance.

Then, without warning, the cacophony of a nearby door breaks the peace as it springs to life. Next thing I realize in the split second, the metallic silver slides inches from my face with blinding agility and slams onto my waiting hand, which I unfortunately did not move away in time. I wail in agony as the door presses my palm against its frame with such an impenetrable grip, like a predator taking a sturdy hold with its steel-like jaws. I try furiously to pull away to no avail; the door's strength remains intact as it continues its merciless crushing. Suddenly, the door somehow reopens ajar on its own, enough for me to slip my hand away before it fully shuts again.

I back away from the door in fear as biting pain consumes my entire hand like a hundred needles. Gripping it close to my chest tightly, I grit my teeth and whimper feebly in torture for a few seconds. During one point the pain somewhat lessens, I move my hand into view to observe the damage, and my eyes widen at the sight of two cuts stretching horizontally across each face of my hand. The wounds from my inner palm are already oozing lots of blood, with the other half expelling a little more. My skin is covered in a deep maroon as extra amounts of blood drip off my hand like a leaking faucet.

What the heck did this door try to do?! Was it completely clueless that I was still in close presence thus it should not shut on my hand like that? In the midst of my anguish, all I can determine is how and why.

"Andrea, are you okay?!" William asks loudly from inside Lisa's room.

I could not spout even something incomprehensible as my mouth is completely vacated of moisture and words. As blood continues to drip to the floor several feet below, my instincts immediately crank my feet into a full sprint for the very door I originally intended to go through before all this occurred.

* * *

Lisa's door reopens like normal as William storms out of her room with Lisa close behind. He scans the entire corridor for Andrea with growing concern as he tries to piece everything together. His darting eyes spot the dots of blood scattered across the floor, creating a sparse trail to the northern door.

This time, her door behaves for both of them and remains open, even if neither of them are risking any chances with it.

"Oh, my God! How could my door malfunction like that?! She was right there when it smashed into her hand!" Lisa panics, now worried to death for her own safety.

William slowly turns to her, and just like her, nothing but astonishment fills his countenance.

"That must be it then," he confirms very calmly yet skeptically. "It must not be working properly."

He then notices the distance between them and frowns at the door.

"Hmm, very clever of you to not stand in its way, especially if it cannot be trusted now. This needs to be inspected as soon as possible to prevent any further damages or injuries," he sternly acknowledges with a drawn-out sigh afterward.

"Where do you think she could have run off to?" Lisa asks.

"From the direction of her blood trail, she's probably on her way straight to the doctor's office to have her new injury taken care of."

"It's a good thing you invited your old family doctor along when you did, William," she comments.

"I sure hope she will be alright. I may have to postpone my plans with her if I won't be able to see her later. In fact, she may not be available for the remainder of the day."

He falls silent during the next crawling minute, shaping his face into stone-hard concentration like a lifeless statue while Lisa stares confused. A meaner part of her is happy to have witnessed the accident as a punishment for the wrongdoer invading her room, but she is, nonetheless, distressed with care.

"Well…" William mumbles, stirring the delayed peace. "I need to conclude the rest of Father's story to you, and then after that, I'll go check on Andrea to see how she's faring."

"No, William, I can tell from that look on your face you're worried stiff about her. We can resume our meeting some other time," Lisa serenely suggests, shaking her head.

"Except I'd rather not want to desert you without the more major details I haven't covered yet. In fact, I was about to reach the climax before she arrived," he calmly counters.

"Okay, I suppose, whatever floats your boat?" she says with uncertainty, returning to her original spot at the center of the room.

William proceeds to re-enter her room. Hesitating with an uneasiness that the door might attempt to shut on him if he dares to cross its path, he rapidly zips on through. Looking back at it typically close behind him, he shakes his head in disbelief and approaches Lisa.


	16. Chapter 15

Rushing through the lobby like a bat out of hell, I clamp tightly around my wrist to prevent losing more blood as these open wounds continue to weep in torment. I begin to feel light in my head as more energy is siphoning from the source of my hand, rather than flowing to my brain to keep it fueled with rich oxygen provided by the blood passing through my arteries.

The door to the doctor's office flings open right away before I even reach it, thankfully helping my speed to not impede for a split second by the obstacle. Luckily, Charles is here, relaxing in his black leather chair by the door while reading a novel. Actually, it looks more like a textbook related to DNA, because there is an illustration of a DNA spiral printed on one of the opened pages. He removes his dense reading glasses and gazes up at me.

"Andrea? Is something the matter?" he asks concerned, reading my face in turmoil.

Again, I cannot reply verbally, but instead I stretch out my hand and rotate my wrist to expose the cuts in full view. His face lightens with surprise as blood continues to drip to the turquoise carpet below and quickly hoists himself from the chair.

"_Wow, even for an older man, that was nimble,"_ I thought.

Nudging me softly against my back, he directs me to the small operations room and drags a chair next to the compact bed for me to sit. He then stands by the sink and opens one of the drawers below the counter in search for some gloves.

"How did this happen?" he asks more calmly, as he digs one of his hands into a glove.

"Lisa's door crushed my hand against its frame as it was shutting with me still present. I was ignorant of the incoming danger until it was too late," I feebly explain.

"Her door attacked you while you were right there?" he wonders baffled, partially repeating my words. "I thought they weren't supposed to."

"Likewise," I say.

My body begins swaying from the dizziness developing in my brain, like I am caught in a light breeze and allowing such movement. I lean forward and rest my skull on my lap while inhaling deep breaths for the desired oxygen.

"Do you need to lay down?" Charles asks.

"No, I think I'll manage until this is done," I answer, raising my head until I can barely see him above the bed.

"You do seem very pale," he comments. "Well, do you have enough energy to get up for a minute? I just need to check your hand through the X-Ray for any broken bones."

I gingerly stumble to my feet and tiptoe to the machine with his aid. Once the machine has captured a few pictures, he ushers me back to my chair and studies the printed results on a well-lit screen in the wall. The following minute, he gives me a reassuring grin.

"Good news, none of your metacarpals are broken. Not even a single hairline fracture," he concludes.

"That's a relief. Thanks, doctor," I softly murmur.

He grabs a handful of old yet clean rags and flattens them over the hard bed like tablecloths for me to rest my weeping hand on. I fortunately do so without accidentally slinging any loose drops of blood on me or anywhere else. He sets the required instruments and supplies on a mobile steel table by the bed's end and then sits on another chair across the bed from me. After tying my wrist with a strong rubber strap to deter further blood loss, he cleans up the hand completely with several wipes, which amazingly do not sting a bit. Finally, he cleans a syringe with alcohol and prepares the anesthesia.

I blankly watch with interest as the doctor vigorously works his magic. Some of the blood that was not cleaned up beforehand had soaked into the rags, and my hand is losing even more color from the lack of new blood entering due to the strap.

Charles gives me a serious glare with the syringe ready in his hand, causing me to cringe at the image. His pose is almost haunting, reminding me of those more maniacal doctors on television who were more than ecstatic to operate on their patients.

"Your lacerations will need to be sewn so they can heal quicker and prevent any likely infections," he firmly states.

I continue to gaze at the needle with discontent before reluctantly accepting the challenge.

"Let's do this," I groan with a weak sigh.

He opens my bleeding palm wider and sticks the syringe into one of the wounds. I wince once more as the sharp sting overcomes the lasting soreness developed within my hand and grit my teeth to bear it. My vertigo suddenly spins me around more rapidly, forcing my head back down on my lap to help my brain receive oxygen more easily.

Moments later, the hand has completely numbed by the anesthesia.

"Hang in there," he gruffly coaxes me. "It will be over soon and the worst will be behind you."

I resume my prolonged breathing for aiding comfort as he readies the sewing needle and stitches. As he quietly begins work on a laceration, I resist the urge to look and instead mull over the work I accomplished. Even though my fibs still hang like a computer running at a snail's pace, I'm now more than satisfied it had all finished before this reared its ugly head. Later, once I fully recover, I can browse through my cameras for anything during my absence.

Charles snips off an extra piece of string from the edge of the final wound mended and cleans up the wounds with antiseptic this time. Then he tapes some straps of gauze over them and wraps a thick linen bandage around my palm.

"There, all done," he confirms.

I carefully lift my head to check on the work. The bandage covers most of my hand except for the thumb and half my fingers so that I'm still privileged to use them. Now I somewhat seem like a mummy with this atrocity, heaving out a sigh of disgust even if the doctor did do a superb job.

"I say, you deserve a lollipop for such good behavior," he brightly jokes.

I chuckle softly and unfurl a weak smile.

"You've done the wise thing by coming here straightaway after the accident," he says. "It should start to heal nicely, however, I strongly advise you to visit me at least once a day during our mission for me to replace your gauzes and dab your wounds with more antiseptic. Once you're home, you probably won't require the gauze or the bandages anymore but I would still recommend keeping that hand clean. Also, the stitches I used will disappear within a few weeks, so you don't need a doctor to manually remove them."

He throws a few bits of trash as well as the used syringe in the nearby bin, then stores all the other tools back in their drawers.

"I truly appreciate the help you've provided for me, Doctor," I kindly gesture him. "Yet, I don't have the money to pay for all this."

"I would rather do it for free, than to have you risk your health over a few wounds," he delivers me a warm grin.

As the wooziness begins to peak at higher levels, I moan and rest my head on my good hand.

"Can you walk?" he asks, leering with concern.

"I…I'm not sure."

"In that case, let me help you to the recliner bed beside my leather chair. I suggest you sleep here until your strength is restored."

With his support again, he escorts me out of the operations room. I slowly sink my bottom onto the bright apple-green recliner, which surprisingly feels very comfy despite it having that slick leather. Charles reaches for the cabinets beside the furniture and gathers a pillow and blankets into his arms. After placing the pillow on the other end away from his chair, he instructs me to lay down. He tosses the blankets over most of my body and I shuffle around underneath for comfort until I give him the thumbs-up. Lowering himself back on his chair, he studies me quietly like an inquisitive cat for a few seconds.

"I apologize for your injury, Andrea," he solemnly sympathizes. "I just…cannot believe that door tried to chop your hand like that."

I peacefully gaze at him while enduring the incapacity swimming inside my head, briefly glancing at the door to his right.

"I can't agree with you more," I respond gravelly. "Maybe I just hung around too long and the door had an automatic timer. Still, it reacted like I didn't exist. I can speculate several reasons for the strange malfunction, although the last sounds incredulous."

"What exactly were you doing by her door, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Here's what happened: I accidentally meandered by it too close and it flew open, typically. My curiosity, as it always drags me around like a rag doll, seized the advantage when I heard voices inside and decided to check it out. After realizing William was in there with Lisa, he said he had something relevant to tell me later. That was when I rested my hand against the door frame. I never meant to engage on their conversation, honestly," I explain.

"Don't worry about it. I've known him to be very tolerant with other people and their mistakes, which is why I've grown especially fond of him ever since I became his family doctor. You remember my occupation, correct?"

"Yes, you noted it yesterday after I asked who our pilot was."

"Precisely."

"I'm relieved he brought in an experienced doctor to this mission, otherwise I would probably be in real trouble with these wounds. You both have my sincere gratitude," I grin lightly.

"You're very welcome. You can thank him later when you're better," he says.

"I will," I ensure.

I rotate my head on the pillow towards the blank wall and study the poster full of people's skeletons above me. Then, in such fake acting, something appears in my mind and I gasp, snapping my fingers beneath the blankets.

"Darn, I was going to install those cameras today!" I spout out.

"Don't get up, Andrea," he sternly insists. "The last thing you need is another injury as punishment for your carelessness related to your sedated health. Just sleep it off and I'm sure everyone will understand the delay."

"Sigh, I guess you're right," I softly murmur in defeat.

I shift around in my covers once more until I am finally content to gradually sleep. Charles observes me more until he gets up to flip on the desk's lamp across the room from me. After turning off the overhead lights with the panel above his leather chair, he occupies the sturdy oak one with his waiting book and picks up from where he left off.

Now staring at his back, I wonder if William will know where to find me or I'll have to catch him another time. It stinks that I'll be the only group member without full adequate knowledge of this place; on the other hand, I can't help but assume he's saving me as the best for last on purpose, which is one observation I actually favor.

Before snoozing off, the door's sudden noise causes me to yelp back to full consciousness and I gawk at the animating door with widened eyes. Once I notice William bestow me a tranquil yet bewildered look, I blush and quickly shift on my side towards the wall while keeping my bandaged hand hidden. Eventually, soft voices begin talking behind me and I perk my ears to listen closely.

"Will she be alright, Doctor Benson?" William asks him.

"I recommended her to rest for now since she kept feeling ill throughout the operation. She occasionally hid her head in her lap," Charles replies.

"Oh, God, why did he have to mention that?" I grumble low in annoyance.

"She should be better by later today or tomorrow, I predict," he continues.

"That's good to know," William sighs. "After she left, I resumed my meeting with Lisa, but I could not keep my concentration for much longer. She demanded that I should go see Andrea if I'm worried sick to not focus straight. She seemed considerate about it but I still need to finish my conclusion with her."

"I understand," Charles calmly complies.

"I don't know. She seemed more agitated when I saw her," I retort quietly.

"Can I see her hand?"

My face twitches as William asks that number one question I hoped to not hear and I groan. I shove my pillow over my head and allow a small opening for air to enter my nostrils with my good hand. Now my mind is debating whether I should show him the awful contraption or wait until later.

"Well, it's covered with a bandage so there is really not much, currently. Besides, I'm not sure if she's alright doing that yet," Charles discloses.

Hearing nothing else in the next unpleasant minute, I grow slightly antsy as I imagine them now just gazing at my back. Muffled footsteps scrape through the thick carpet, and next thing I know, a hand hooks over my upper arm while another removes the pillow from my head. Sighing, I hesitantly turn my head until I see William hovering over me, like a guardian angel keeping a close watch.

"Are you okay, Andrea?" he asks.

"Not really, no," I answer jarringly. "I don't feel well at all, probably from the blood loss or the anesthesia in my hand."

"Did you shriek a minute ago? I couldn't decipher if it was or that was the door as I was entering."

"It was her," Charles pipes in, encouraging William to glance over at him. "That yelp did startle me, I'll admit."

In the elevating humiliation, I tug the pillow from William's grip and press it harder against my head. I solely wish to be freed of this pickle, pondering over the alternative if I never laid my hand against that door frame in the first place. I would not even be here, incapacitated by my depleted health.

"Yeah, it was that darn door that woke me up," I shout loudly through the pillow.

I shut my eyes and meddle with the swirling wooziness still in motion, now being somewhat grateful for it. Seconds following, I feel a foreign movement on the recliner as William lowers on the edge. Our rears meet like it's a long kiss as he gets comfortable beside me. His hand never loosens from my arm during his shifting position, and again, he pries the pillow off my head which I allow in defeat.

"Andrea, I am so sorry this happened to you," he confesses close to my ear, pouring out his sympathy like it's his fault. "When you disappeared with only that sparse blood trail, I could not stop thinking about you."

"You honestly should have completed the rest of your story to Lisa without this hindrance," I sternly specify. "Last thing I desire is for her to be more ticked at me for interrupting your conference."

"Yes, I know. Nevertheless, I believe after that dramatic episode with the door, we both had our minds set on other present problems. Lisa was actually lenient with the postponement of the meeting and likely just as concerned for you."

Peace, like an inquisitive butterfly, hovers between us for the next minute as I try to conjure another comprehensible response in the midst of my illness.

"Are you still interested to see my hand?" I ask, turning my head towards him again.

"You don't have to if you're ashamed to show me," he calmly replies. "As much as I am, it is not a terribly big deal."

I stare right into his eyes, once again finding that generous soul I recall back in the helicopter yesterday. As the final decision sets into place, I slowly roll on my back and he slides his hand from my arm. Exposing the bandaged hand from the covers, I hold it inches above my chest to show. A more solemn expression sweeps across his face as he takes it, and low hums emit deep within his larynx as he inspects it all around, turning it at certain moments. While continuing to longingly gaze at him with affection, I throw an occasional eye at Charles who tranquilly observes us with no change of countenance to disturb the fine wrinkles sketched on his face. William eventually releases my hand after seeing enough, and instead of concealing it back under the covers, I rest it on one of my breasts.

"How many stitches did those wounds require?" he asks.

"Thirty, per cut," Charles replies.

"Goodness…"

"Don't fret about it, William. I'll be fine," I solemnly grumble, not shocked by the number. "Sorry if I am being a sourpuss and I'm certain to be rejuvenated after my nap. Only mishap to deal with afterwards is handling activities with a disabled hand I use regularly."

"It's okay, I'll let you sleep. Whenever you're available, I'll recite the remainder of Father's history to you. That's honestly why I wanted to host our meeting in your room, despite everyone being informed of it by now," he clarifies.

"I presumed that's what was on your mind," I point out.

"Well, hang in there, Andrea, and hopefully I'll see you again soon."

"Um, this is going to sound odd but won't you stick around for a little while, until I fall asleep?" I ask, hesitant.

Astonishment fills up in his face, throwing a glimpse at Charles that expresses that similar level of surprise. Humiliated, I look back at the boring wall and close my eyes, once again appreciating the vertigo as it succumbs my concentration.

"Sorry if that was too much to ask," I mumble sadly, slightly startled by my voice level.

Then I feel more movement on the recliner, but it's not one that defines his departure.

"No, it was not. I would love to keep you company," William breathes right into my ear with a more devilish tone.

With a familiar shudder that automatically forces goosebumps to erupt from my skin, I peel my eyes and gaze back at him. He is merely inches from my face with another suave sneer planted across his cheeks, making me wonder if he might…give me a kiss. We delay our romantic stare into each other's subtle windows, as our awed souls are basically pressing their foreheads against them at this point for more.

"Yet…" he slowly lifts his head away. "I honestly cannot stay even if I wanted to watch you snooze the entire way. You're aware that I have my long list of things to do for today. I'm not even halfway to the finish line and time's already chimed into the late afternoon."

"Alright, I can abide that," I softly comply.

He rises from the recliner's edge as our eyes stay connected for one more minute until he bids goodbye to Charles and leaves the office. With the both of us alone again, Charles doesn't return to his book right away but instead looks back at me with a heightened expression.

"Are you two actually infatuated? It's fine if you don't want to tell me," he asks.

"Yeah, I think so. As weird as it sounds, it's probably these misfortunes cast upon me that has bonded us closer together. I even mentioned to him last night he acts so much like a nonexistent brother with the way he's cared so much for me," I steadily explain.

Not impeded by my assumption, he nods in serene consent.

Still fighting against my wooziness, I close my dreary eyes under Charles' watch and start drifting back into my subconscious with a new adventure awaiting me.


	17. Chapter 16

An inferior yet persistent itch underneath my bundled bandages causes me to stir from my nap and my eyes lift open lazily. Gratefully not affected by my vertigo anymore and instead feeling quite restored, I yawn the cat's big yawn and stretch out my limbs, exposing the tips of my feet and fingers from the covers. I soon realize Charles is no longer sitting in front of his desk. He must have departed at some point during my slumber and left the desk lamp on for me so I won't be caught in almost total darkness when I wake up. Only the LED panel by the door would still provide with little illumination.

Rising from my pillow, I allow my head to levitate a foot over my lap as if my neck is unhinged improperly, trying to remember why I am here. I notice the top of my wrist with the edge of a linen cloth poking out from the blankets and immediately reminisce the incident. As the annoying itch continues to linger with the occasional spikes, I slide my pinky finger through the cloth and successfully manage to scratch it until relieved. The feeble soreness slowly increasing from my sewn cuts must indicate the anesthesia is starting to wear out, which explains why I can partially feel my thumb and fingers again. It truly reeks I won't be able to use this hand as efficiently for however long these bandages are required, being thankful that Charles allowed almost complete freedom of my phalanges for simple tasks. I'll be more than diligent to obey his recommendations, just to help my wounds heal faster so I can get rid of this eyesore sooner.

With a sigh for invigorating encouragement, I shift my body towards the edge of the recliner until my feet lightly touches the carpet. Slipping them into my sneakers that were taken off before I laid down, I scoff at the unnecessary image of sleeping with them still on. Even if this slick leather can easily be cleaned, I wouldn't want to leave any visible dirt for the doctor to tend to. Feeling the flat object inside one of my pant pockets, I remember my possession of the camera device and nod at the emerging idea.

Cautiously digging it out without accidentally pressing any of the buttons on its surface, I scan through the working cameras with my injured hand, fortunately not hindered by its handicap. I envision nothing unusual has occurred while I was unconscious, just everyone performing their rounds throughout the station. I doubt any native spirits will want to arouse any trouble to avoid detection unless they are that daring.

So far, as expected, everything appears normal and unperturbed by any supernatural forces. My eyes curiously dart off to the time shown on the screen, reading it is nearly nine in the evening. My stomach rumbles on perfect cue, persuading me to check the kitchen over my primary routine. Watson looks like he is beginning to wrap things up, wiping the cutting boards and gingerly around cooled stoves.

While scanning the individual cameras overlooking the divided hallway throughout Mary's western wing, something outside William's bedroom snatches my attention.

Oozing down one end of the large window sill is some black gunk creating an icky puddle on the floor. I move in my head closer to the screen for a whiff of the stuff, only to realize my mistake since I can't honestly smell it from here. That's how enhanced the quality of the picture is despite its size, as if it's not onscreen but I'm actually there on the scene presently. From the light barely reflecting off the gunk's glossy and thick texture with little hope of escaping, I can guess this could be…oil?

"Strange…didn't William inform me before his father didn't unearth a single drop of oil during his mission here years ago?" I ask, leering suspiciously at the screen.

However surprising this may sound, it is somewhat to be anticipated if any of our rogue spirits are responsible. Curious, I rewind the footage to determine who or what left this oil, because it certainly would not have come out of nowhere. Eventually, I catch the culprit and resume normal play before they re-enter through the corridor's northern entry. Parking directly by the spot, they dig into a pocket to expose a small, dark container and bend down to carefully pour the oil from the window sill. Tucking the container away, they disappear through the same door on a casual stride, unmoved by their misdeed.

Rewinding the flick again, I pause at a precise second and zoom in on the stranger's still image to study their features. Their attire is a dull-gray winter gear that includes a hood over their head, with a crimson red lined about the edges of the clothing and the pockets' openings on the jacket. Their face and hands are a pure snow-white and devoid of any skin textures whatsoever. Solid-black pits from where the eyes would be are the only aspects on their countenance.

So, could this be the very Eskimo apparition I caught outside last night, or not? One fact regarding their messy duty doesn't quite make sense, though: how come they were carrying around a canister full of oil? In my belief, ghosts could perform anything that makes it look like a magic trick.

Figuring to pursue the Eskimo to find out where they're heading off to, I switch to the camera peering over the bedrooms of mine and Chin's. I observe their movement across to the next accessible door until I jump to the second hallway section from the main lobby. This time, I don't distinguish any signs of the perpetrator, sight or sound. Confused, I revert back to the last camera to ensure I did not miss them beforehand. Through that positive confirmation, I return to the next corridor and still find nothing, like they suddenly banished out of existence.

This is getting annoying, as this is starting to feel like déjà vu from last night's enigma. Also, these doors and lights reacted to them like they were a normal body. How the heck does this guy just vanish out of thin air like this? Unless…they are somehow not a ghost at all which would make the situation even more ludicrous. There is no way someone other than me knows my cameras' locations throughout Mary's perimeter, as their size and camouflage is more than plenty enough to prevent any easy encounters by even a wandering eye. If people were to waste time searching for them, they will lose interest long before getting remotely warmer.

Nodding at another option, I reverse the footage from the camera overlooking my bedroom door even further back before the wrongdoer even dumped the oil. They appear into view at first, but in the prior corridor, nothing.

With a furious grumble, I drop the gadget on my lap and massage my face. This is really making me lose my mind, because why would some of my cameras malfunction like this when I've tested every single one of them with positive results during my production? Then that mysterious question is shoved by a more important one: Why hasn't my device emitted that same moan as I was observing this guy?

Returning to the Eskimo's still image, I zoom in even closer until I am inches from the faceless criminal's eye pits. While panning the camera on their face, I eventually notice an inferior wrinkle at the base of their neck just above the jacket, which does not seem like a normal skin wrinkle as it streaks across the neck almost horizontally.

That's one piece to the puzzle solved, leaving me with a confident smirk. Whoever is acting as this Eskimo apparition is likely doing so to encourage nonbelievers like me to false acceptance of the circumstance, and leaving behind traces of oil as some sort of marking. Also, if this guy truly was a ghost, they would not be this opaque. Their skin must not be white but rather they are wearing some kind of mask and gloves that match in color.

I instantaneously fill with an uplifting urge to alert someone of this discovery, yet wiser thoughts ensue. Maybe it will be better to keep the faux Eskimo's identity to myself for the time being, until I know for certain who can use the information well. Plus, those I've talked to today still assume I'm setting up my system, and now with the postponement regarding this injury, it will have to remain that way a little longer. As long as I can keep my eyes peeled on whatever else this impostor might do in the near future, I can tolerate going into a stealth mission. At least leaving oil around is not too alarming; if someone's life were at jeopardy, that'd sprout a different story altogether. Recalling some moments of those investigative television shows I watched, however, what if this culprit is waiting until the first utmost opportunity to really strike?

Now enthralled to just see the oil for myself, I slip the gadget back into my pocket and slide out of my blankets. After tying my sneakers, I perform a considerate chore of delicately folding them and tucking them below the pillow. I reverse the doctor's actions by reactivating the overhead light's automatic sensors and flipping off the desk lamp.

Upon arrival, I approach the oil puddle and crouch over it. It is still seeping down the wall slowly by the endurance of gravity like molasses. Deciding to gather a tiny sample as evidence, I mindlessly reach forth with my good hand but cease inches away. It's best to not let any on my hands as it will be murder to clean up. If I use my bandage to soak up even that portion, the doctor will probably be both shocked of the oil and scold at me for endangering my health.

I snap my fingers as I remember those paper cups by the water cooler. Leaving the corridor on a sprint, I retrace my steps back to the four-way foyer and stop by the control room's door, careful to not let it open this time in case I might bother Frank again. Once I return to the scene with a cup in hand, I gasp at the next picture before me.

The oil…it's not there anymore. I crouch over the supposed spot again to check that it's indeed been cleaned up except for an inferior smear on the window sill. I rub my eyes hard to guarantee I am not hallucinating this, either by the anesthesia still lingering in my hand or the dizziness possibly reforming.

"How the heck can anyone wipe oil up so swiftly during my absence?" I snap at the now clean wall.

I nearly crush the cup in fury with another growl and rise to full height, as my legs are beginning to lose circulation from my squat. Gazing around the enclosure, my eyes focus directly on the hidden camera just above the window. Skeptical whether this will work, I pull out my gadget again after setting the cup down on the sill and browse through the previously viewed cameras. I have an inkling this faux Eskimo spirit has returned to undo their dirty business of spilling the oil in the first place.

Yes, the familiar gray winter outfit has struck again. Since I trekked through the southern hallway a minute ago without running into anybody, they either came through the same corridors I unsuccessfully pursued them before or from William's room. I skip through each flick until the needed answer reveals itself. Finding out they have come from the previous hallway segment outside my room, I follow them with each camera until they disappear in the first corridor before the main lobby this time.

"What the…?" I mutter bewildered.

I couldn't keep track of them in the second hallway section before, and now this? Then a worrisome thought invades my mind as I picture them stumbling into one of the bedrooms. Fortunately, that is not the case at all.

This experience is just way beyond astounding. Whoever this guy is, he or she is definitely doing a great job posing as this Eskimo spirit and evading my cameras at times they could have provided me the best footage. Even nowadays, there is nothing like an invisibility device for shifting people into oblivion, so my cameras SHOULD have spotted something the entire way through.

Now I am starting to feel anxious about my surroundings, trapped in a box with no one around but these criminals teasing me. I feel utterly alone, like a lost child separated from their parents and weeping away until someone with a kind heart can assist.

Setting my unappealing discovery aside for now, I grab the cup and return to my room. Laying it alone on the table away from the steel case, I feel another sense of dread and look around. They say a person's bedroom is one of the safest places in the house. I'd despise hiding in my wardrobe or wherever just because I'm beginning to experience another growing fear. Besides, I am truly not alone here as I have my friends.

My stomach lurches with hunger once again, which I silently praise it for to take my mind off the bigger dilemma and sigh. I better get to the kitchen before Watson closes up for the night and I'll have to go to bed famished.


	18. Chapter 17

While approaching the dining room through the foyer's extended stretch that feels endless, I stuff both hands into my pant pockets to avoid looking too suspicious if I only hide my injured hand from my ignorant colleagues. I am nowhere near interested in showing the pathetic state of it to them yet, at least not all at once. That might create some unwanted commotion and a crowd invading my personal space, like they would ask for my autograph. True, it's only bandages and telling everyone my story will pry me off the hook sooner, but I still despise the extra attention. Aside from Charles who mended my wounds, the only other person well aware of my condition is William. Lisa is a partial witness, as she saw the motion of the occurrence inflicted on my hand but not the damage it compelled. Soon enough in due time, I'll show each person individually at more opportune moments.

As the door shuts behind me, everyone simultaneously steers their attention my way and just as shortly lose interest. It seems most of them are still present despite it being late, with a few bites of food left on their plates as they chat with their brethren. A pair of guests are even sitting in front of the bar instead of the table. Walking calmly past the divided group while eying the photographs, I catch a glimpse of Charles bestowing me a content expression before disappearing into the kitchen.

Watson is now on the other side of the cooking island, with the cleaning rag in hand as he wipes the stove's tight crevices with vigor. The pans that remain are still sizzling with a pitiful cacophony from the recently cooked foods. As their succulent smells seep into my nostrils, my nagging tummy reacts with a louder gurgle. On cue, Watson lifts up from his chore and his eyes slightly bulge at me.

"Oh, wow, talk about impeccable timing, Andrea. I was just about to close up the kitchen for the night and stow away any leftover foods. Where have you been this whole time?" he asks.

"I…was able to finish the final touches of my objective a little while ago, but I needed to check each camera to ensure they were working accordingly. I honestly had not realized how much time slipped during my run," I lie steadily. "So, what do you have on those pans?"

"Let's see…" Watson pauses as he looms over the pans to his right. "I have a rib-eye steak and some diced potatoes if you're interested in that."

"Sure, Watson, that sounds delicious. If you heard my gut a minute ago, that was it begging for whatever's on those pans."

"Heh," he chuckles amusingly. "Alright, I won't have to worry about putting away too many leftovers then. I'll warm them up and call you when they are ready. They shouldn't take forever."

"I won't care for the wait as long as it's still yummy in the end," I wink.

I exit the galley on that high note and decide to give nature another response before I can blend in with the other guests.

Occupying a bar stool closer to Maxwell Mayfield's portrait, I gaze around dully with the perception of being watched by his static glare like he's suddenly God. My face droops as I delve into profound concentration about this evening's experience with the fake Eskimo spirit. Again, however excited I am to alert somebody, my intuition informs me this is currently not the best time to spill those precious beans quite yet. My bigger burden is whoever will benefit from this information will also not dare betray my trust and use it to their unfair advantage afterwards.

While swimming in the deep end of my thoughts, I suddenly emerge out of the water when I hear my name from the kitchen. Upon entering, Watson points at my ready plate with his hand once again bundled in that cleaning rag and I thank him considerably for the grub before departing. Even though the steak alone is moderately heavy, I find it not too challenging to carry the plate with only my good hand while the other continues to hide like a roach in daylight.

It didn't take long for me to devour my food, as I was just starving from the entire day since breakfast. I certainly had the ambition to deal with the fork in my handicapped hand while slicing up my steak. I don't handle my utensils in the same fashion as most everyone but it makes me delighted I am not a right-handler with the knife, otherwise I would have humiliated myself by asking somebody, likely Watson, to cut up the food for me like I'm a helpless child. I deliver my used dish to the kitchen and place everything in their usual pile by the sink for Watson to wash later. After exchanging another kind gesture with him, I depart for the final time and settle back on my stool.

While throwing brief, innocent glances at everyone around me as if I am expecting someone, I resume keeping my injured hand out of eyesight. Luckily for me, nobody, including those across the bar from me, noticed my condition as I was eating, especially if that crowd had a better chance spotting it. Scaling every limb attached to Maxwell's image, who is staring back down at me with a tranquil sneer curving his thin mustache, I gradually drift back to my more addicting thoughts. I plunge so down deep this time, I completely shoo away the dining room and its occupants from my subconscious, concealing my senses to oblivion. My ears don't even hear the familiar hissing of a door opening to invite somebody in.

I quickly snap back to reality when I feel a hand gently touch down my left shoulder. Noticing the fingertips from my corner vision, I giggle with ecstasy in my throat as I determine who might be present now.

"Come to see me, William?" I ask timidly.

"Ha! She thought I was you, Bill!"

Recognizing both the voice and who uses that name, I flinch and feel my cheeks flush with the embarrassing heat. I slowly turn my head to the resting hand and realize the sleeve is all white, instead of black over white. With a small gulp to ease my concern, I continue rotating on my stool until I perceive the presence of Frank towering me with William right behind him. I grit my teeth and spin back in front.

"Oh, gosh, I am sorry I guessed the wrong person! I don't know what came over me aside from the dumb excitement that brewed in me," I clarify anxiously.

I rest my chin on my left wrist over the counter while shuffling my other hand further inside my long-sleeve shirt to avoid even easier encounters from them. Shortly, I feel the air move around me as the hand lifts away and my other shoulder receives a light patting. Levitating my skull inches above the wrist to gaze at the small mirror sandwiched between two taller bottles over the shelf, I can watch Frank and William as they lower themselves onto the unused stools surrounding me. Judging by the smirks on their faces, they're undoubtedly amused by my vocal mistake. I sigh in reluctant acceptance of our mixed glee.

Looking at William, I notice he's in front of his father's profile. Wondering if he intended it like that, I strike the chance in the midst of our peace to compare the two. My instincts earlier today weren't kidding about how identical they are, again making me depict Maxwell's real skin and bones sitting next to me right now.

"So, Andrea," William says, spurring me away from my thoughts. "You seem to be doing much better. How do you feel?"

"Aside from being a tad groggy still and the soreness on my hand returning, I am must rejuvenated," I answer.

A warming grin unfurls on his countenance for my piece of good news.

"Hey, Blu," Frank chimes in.

Obediently, I turn towards him with ears ready for what he has in mind.

"Is it alright if I see your hand? Bill already told me it's wrapped up but I was nevertheless concerned after hearing your misfortune."

"Did you find anything up with that door?" I ask.

"I'm afraid not."

"What?" I gape my jaw with surprise.

"After I heard what happened, I disassembled the panels on both sides of the wall beside Lisa's door and checked for any problems that triggered the event. Within a half-hour, I concluded there was nothing wrong and informed Lisa the, I should say, good news on her part. I know the same can't be said for you, I'm sorry," he solemnly explains.

I deprive my body of all motion from the news, gawking at the colorful bottles for the longest minute before able to move again. Since I deduced it simply misbehaved by some flaw in the system, it would have seemed more logical.

"That is shocking," I softly mention. "All I can now assume from that incident, which hasn't been crossed off the list yet, is either the door has a timer or the unimaginable."

"Which unimaginable is that?" William asks.

I share my worried glances between the two with uncertainty, knowing this will startle them one way or another.

"This could be the responsibility of the apparitions skulking around here. I believe they are planning on pulling pranks on any one of us and I was the first pick of the bunch, which I admit I'm not too happy about," I steadily reply.

Looking at them to see what they think, I was expecting nothing more out of their appalled reactions with this sort of absurdity I unveiled. William seems almost petrified with swelled eyes, similar to yesterday's experience in the helicopter when he stormed out of the cockpit, although here is less severe. Frank, on the other hand, leers at me skeptically like I am some crazy woman. With a prolonged sigh of defeat, I bury my face with my good palm.

Another itch begins to develop under my bandages, which I flinch and clench my teeth to bear the torment as it worsens. I do not want to shoot my hand out of its hiding place in the desperate effort to relieve it. Then it elevates to an alarming sting, like a wasp had just pierced my hand. I rip it out of my shirt and could not control the speed of it before colliding against the edge of the counter, creating a loud knock on the wood like I just punched at somebody's front door.

"Ow!" I burst out as the new pain consumes the soreness.

As if it could not get any worse for me, my yelp has abruptly shut everyone up from their conversations. Swiftly stuffing my hand back in my shirt, I lean back to peer behind Frank. The other group at the bar stare right at me with confusion, and I attempt to keep a straight face while holding my breath. Then I crank my head over my shoulder to find everyone else with their eyes glued to me like hawks. It steadily grows more difficult for me to keep the innocence unaltered as possible, as my cheeks increasingly blush a steaming red and a tear trickles down an eye.

With each second ticking away in the unpleasant silence, I could not stand it anymore. After giving a desperate glimpse to Charles, whose expression hasn't changed since we last laid eyes, I hop off my stool, nearly tipping it over in the process, and storm out of the dining room without looking back.

As the door closes, I could have sworn I heard William's voice calling out for me from the dining room. Apologizing to him under my bated breath, instead of sprinting through the lobby to my bedroom as destined, I bank an immediate left to the other divided hallway. I'd rather not want to get caught by him in mid flight in case he'll attempt to stop me, which will ruin my reputation if I ignore his calls. Besides, there must be something in the doctor's office I can use to cover up my hand. I just cannot deal with this humiliation anymore, not with this atrocity I've adapted to hate so much.


	19. Chapter 18

Fueled with the elevating shame, I dash desperately through the divided hallway and eventually reach the doctor's office with no time delayed by the automatic doors opening. My energy pumps through my system with a fun yet uneasy suspicion I might be followed close behind, like in my innumerable dreams of being chased by a more unknown hunter. Unfortunately, the LED panel outside the office will inform passersby someone is here, and that will not aid me in my desired solitude for very long. There is a way to turn that feature off manually but time is currently not on my side.

Trotting through the office, and nearly tripping over one of the desk chair's legs in the process, I enter the operations room and scramble through the drawers by the sink for a rubber glove. I remember that Charles, despite his body in the way at that precise moment, revealed a pair from the second drawer to the right while preparing for my surgery. Sliding it open, I discover a box full of them right away. Intriguing, not only does the package estimate the quantity of gloves inside but unlike others, these actually allow hands to breathe. That would be convenient, as my hand is already quite snug by the linen cloth.

I rip a glove out of the box, causing a few more to pop out unnecessarily, and try to pull it over my injured hand. The thumb and fingers are coming in fine, but the rest decides to not cooperate as smoothly. Stressed to near explosion by the fusing anger boiling my blood, I keep accidentally dropping the glove on the counter a couple times. I shriek fiercely through clenched teeth at the rare chances it is nearly successful but still barely out of reach.

A minute passing into my agonizing failures, the office's door flies open and I instantly petrify with an abrupt gasp at the cacophony. The glove slips off my fingers again and this time, it plummets onto one of my sneakers below, blanketing it almost completely. I wait impatiently with my ears perked on full alert, unsure whether to scream or bawl harshly by the intensity.

"Are you in here, Andrea?" a voice emits from the office.

Too stunned to answer, I begin to hyperventilate softly at least, allowing new oxygen into my lungs again. As tears start streaming down my cheeks, I snap my eyes shut to contain them and continue to wait for the inevitable to present itself to me.

The person's footsteps scrape through the carpet as they approach closer. Their feet eventually meet the ceramic-tiled floor with an ear-piercing squeak in here, nearly startling me in my thoughts.

"Andrea, are you okay?" William asks troubled.

"No," I immediately reply, shaking my head.

Feeling his hands hook around my upper arms, I respire with the slight difficulty of snot starting to trickle down my throat.

"It's just…the way those eyes all stared at me like that. I…I really prefer being left alone, please," I whimper.

More tears squeeze past my eyelids and slide down the base of my chin like streaks of rain on panes of glass. Lowering my head over my neck's base, I focus mainly on expelling the tension as steadily as possible to prevent the entire explosion. Suddenly, the hands gripped to me spin me around, causing me to hiccup in surprise as I forcefully stop to face William eye-to-eye. Then he pulls me in towards him.

"No, Andrea, I will not let you wallow in sadness from that episode," he calmly states.

His arms wrap tighter around my back, causing my feet to stumble clumsily for balance as I am directed forward for the hug. Deciding to accept his amenity without any form of refusal, I resume my sobbing while attempting to breathe deeply for extra comfort. I sink the side of my skull into the heart of his chest, literally hearing the intermittent beating inside the suit, and grab his business jacket feebly with my wounded hand.

Within minutes without another word from either one of us, I have released all grief possible from the tears and crank my head up to gaze at him.

"There. Did that make you feel any better?" he asks, grinning warmly.

I nod quietly and sigh, almost sensing the familiar love between us derived in appreciation once more for his care. Reversing a step back carefully to avoid any of his feet, he places an arm around my shoulder, as if promoting me protection.

"Is it alright with you if I escort you back to your room? Was that where you originally intended to go?" he suggests.

"I won't mind the company. Thank you," I answer softly.

With a light nudge from him as encouragement, we depart the operations room together. The glove dropped moments ago gradually slides off my sneaker and remains alone on the broadened tile floor. Before we manage to exit the office, however, the door opens again to reveal Frank. I flinch and brake abruptly in my tracks as the new concern begins brewing.

Regardless of that LED panel being the larger factor in leading people to me, I still deem it astounding that both he and William have found me as if it was easy. I imagine if I were to conceal myself behind junk in the control room or up in the watch tower's balcony, which is bound to be deprived of any clues to my whereabouts, I'll still be encountered by them sooner or later. No matter how spacious 'Mary' is, my demanded isolation without spreading a word doesn't seem to last.

"You fine, Blu?" Frank asks in a rather serious tone.

"Is there anyone other than you coming?" I peep timidly, like a scared lass.

"No," he shakes his head, narrowing his eyes.

"I was guiding her back to her room. From what happened at the dining room, I think she's had enough for today," William mentions.

My feet remains braced on the carpet against his resumed nudging. He bestows me a bewildered expression the instant he realizes my resistance.

"Andrea?"

That's when it hits me that my right hand is actually exposed to my side, hence the reason why Frank is looking down at it than either of our faces. I also recall the glove that never left the operations room.

"Well, he did ask about my hand," I disclose, looking at William. "How about we settle here for a bit instead? Since I now know no one else will show, although I wouldn't care much if the doctor entered, maybe you can elaborate the rest of Mary's history for me."

"Um, that's fine with me if you wish," he mutters hesitantly.

William and I settle our bottoms on the recliner together while Frank chooses the doctor's leather chair. Stretching out my arm as if an offer, Frank takes the hand and begins his inspection. I notice an end of the linen cloth loosening from the tight bundle around my palm, and the second he spots it, he pinches it and gives me another glare like I am required to provide the perfect solution.

"Actually…" I mumble, sharing glances between them. "Do you want to know what the cuts really look like?"

Nothing but doubt and excitement immediately fill their countenance as their eyes widen.

"Will the doctor be content with that?" Frank asks skeptically, releasing my hand and the cloth.

Withdrawing the hand to inches above my lap, I tug on the cloth a few times and make it unbind some more.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to put it all back together, like pieces of a jigsaw. The gauzes are taped over but I don't believe it will pose a difference," I assume.

With neither responses from them to acknowledge or counteract my decision, I proceed with undoing my bandage by wrapping it around my other palm. As the second end falls off, I rest the bundle on my lap and gingerly peel off the blood-stained straps by the tape.

Various noises of shock emit from both men in unison the second my lacerations become completely visible. With a gasp, William removes his hand from my shoulder and grabs mine with both of his. Frank molds a disgusted look and moans low to imply how painful it all seems.

"Gracious, Andrea, this looks horrible," William states worried.

"It could have been worse than this. Doctor Benson concluded I was fortuitous enough to not acquire any broken bones," I say gravelly.

"Ah, yes, that is true."

After he's seen enough of it and frees my hand, I pull the gauze back over the wounds.

"Aren't you going to replace those?" he asks.

"I'd rather not make the doctor suspicious when he changes them out the next time I have to meet him. Let's just pretend I never…"

Before I could finish, William swiftly abandons my side for the operations room. Speechless, I am unable to conjure any words against his actions, but on the other hand, I admire his brotherly efforts to help.

"Hey, William, I think the gauze is in one of the drawers closer to the sink," I recommend.

"Thanks, Andrea!" he brightly praises.

He rummages through them until he pulls out some packets, a roll of the tape, and some clips for likely the bandage. He shortly returns and replenishes his spot next to me. I rip off the rest of the used gauzes dangling from my hand and toss them in a bin close-by as he tears away the packets containing the new straps. With what little assistance I can provide to deter my wrist from jittering too much, he cautiously lays the gauze over my lacerations and tapes them down.

As he works the magic, I notice that Frank has been very tranquil and tolerant throughout this task ever since I unveiled my cuts. He keeps leering at them, however, probably still surprised of how this all turned out for me. Clearly, he is just as concerned for my well-being, although not as overly protective as William has shown lately. I do appreciate their devotion as a whole, because I need the support to overcome the bad luck that's cast over me like a dark cloud eager to rain.

Attaching the final end of the bandage with the clips to prevent it from loosening again, William gives me a devilish smirk and a light, formal kiss on my hand.

"How were you able to do that so well?" I ask, astounded. "You mended it in a similar fashion as Doctor Benson did."

"You can ask Frank and he'll know," he coolly replies; Frank hums positively and nods. "I was notorious for getting all sorts of nicks and scratches when we were kids," he continues.

"Oh, boy, do I remember," Frank ratifies on that note. "Most of the time, his parents were too preoccupied to help so with my aid, we took care of his wounds. He wasn't even afraid of the alcohol since it stings immensely."

"Eh, I got used to those stings eventually," William corrects.

"Okay, I can accept that," I mumble.

At the next thought presenting itself, although as another form of acting to preserve my lies, I glower with disappointment.

"William, I am so sorry I hadn't completed my job today, at least not most of it anyway. After visiting Watson's pet cat and Ben, I did start but only progressed as far as my bedroom and half of Mary's western hallway before I accidentally stumbled to Lisa's room," I confess somberly.

"Andrea, I completely understood you were incapable after the incident, so don't worry if you couldn't finish," he says warmly, squeezing my hand. "In fact, I would have recommended you to get some rest anyway. Tomorrow is another day and you still have plenty of time."

"I'm also worried that Owen was expecting me to be done so he can commence the ritual today."

"I informed him of what happened immediately after visiting you here. I didn't bestow him the whole details but he was very forgiving and wished you well."

"Oh, that's relieving to know. I would have insisted him to just run along with the séance without me or my system if he was ready."

As the peace resumes its presence without another word to end off on that topic, my mind shifts its focus on one more subject and I start breaking down a little. Removing my hand from William's weak grasp, I cover my face.

"What's wrong?" he asks, wrapping his arm behind my back once more.

Webbing out my fingers to see, I notice Frank glaring at me in stern confusion. Sighing, I merge my fists into one ball against my chin, lightly nibbling at my index finger.

"I'm just utterly flabbergasted at the amount of jeopardy I faced since this adventure began. I've experienced more deathly traumas in these past two days than my whole life. I am wondering if it's really worth it," I explain solemnly.

"Hey, I can sympathize your frustration over the misfortune that's reared its ugly head at you lately. I honestly hope you don't believe it's me who's summoned these adversities, as I'd not want this anymore than you. Please don't be angry," he pleads.

"I am not accusing you of anything, William, as you're not the guilty one," I confirm, shaking my head. "Still, none of this has been anything to laugh about, like being nearly thrown out of the helicopter or getting my hand caught by Lisa's door. My meandering outside last night, however, was my own doing, I get that. At least it was almost nothing in comparison."

Resisting the developing tears as the dormant tension reawakens, I respire more deeply and steadily.

"Seriously, why me?" I whimper softly.

"If you need some cheering up, Blu, I can help with that," Frank chimes in. "Throughout our school lives, I was famous for being a class clown because I always brewed up jokes at impeccable times. That's made everyone guffaw like bashful hyenas, including some of our more tolerant teachers. I've also earned trips to the principal's office but what can I say? Nothing ever made me happier than to brighten everyone's mornings, hence I was given the nickname 'Frankster the Prankster' by our fellow classmates."

I quirk my eyebrows in a droll manner as I gawk at him.

"Frankster the Prankster? Really?" I ask in disbelief.

"Mm-hmm!"

"Well, I do appreciate your ambition to encourage me, but I am not sure if it will really help though," I say skeptically, my face drooping.

"Ah, you don't know me all that well then," he shrewdly mentions. "I've urged even the most of stubborn of frowns to flip upside-down. My antics will lift you away from your lethargy, you will never think you had it."

"I suppose it won't hurt to try me. Even though I know William has something important to tell me, I will give you the opportunity to break the ice afterward."

"I honestly never expected any of these hindrances to affect you, Andrea," William swears with regret. "All I wanted was for you to come to my expedition in full spirits so you can perform your job efficiently."

"Don't worry about it," I calmly reassure him. "Despite the stress weighing me down from all this, I am actually flattered one of these events has awarded me a revered ranking in conquering its challenge."

"How true is that? What transpired in the end was likely more than coincidental," Frank agrees. "Oh, weren't you going to show me your inventions today?"

"Aw, you know what happened to me," I grumble, slightly irritated.

"Lighten up, I was only kidding. Like Bill confirmed, tomorrow is another day and you'll have time then to show me," he winks.

As a feeble grin gradually spreads across my face, I nod and curiously stare at my hand for a few seconds, before reverting my attention back on William. His complexion definitely defines nothing but remorse, and I can sense he's very distraught like he's placed the bulk of the blame on him for my adversities. Quickly, I brainstorm the foolproof concoction for cheering him up, so those blue vibes won't spread over the rest of us like the common cold.

"Hey, be happy, buddy. Don't make me have to sing that stupid bass song because it's going to loop endlessly in my head like a broken record," I chirp blissfully.

"Oh, what?" Frank snorts then chuckles. "Don't get me started on that either."

I fill in on his laughter and watch William emerge from his guilt bubble to present a quaint smirk.

"Now that's the Andrea I remember from the tavern," he reminds me softly. "The one who hasn't ceased to impress this humble soul."

"I must say, Blu, you got some humor up your sleeve, yet you can't snatch that 'prankster' title from me as I am a legendary," Frank brags cunningly.

"Even though you scoffed at my comment?" I ask.

"That's because it sounded more absurd than funny, but it was a good shot, nevertheless. Once you relish the taste of my capers, you will laugh harder than my pitiful chortle," he leers devilishly.

"For one to develop on the comedy, you two would make a great team," William comments.

"Not too certain on that but I'll take it, I suppose," I shrug.

"Alright, since you're more than enthralled to hear the rest of Father's story…"

"Like when I wanted to know your name?" I intrude.

"Heh, if you say so," he weakly scoffs. "Anyway, you know I already informed everyone before you, but I intended on saving you as the best for last despite your injury."

"Let's hear it, William. I'm all ears," I peep adorably, resting my chin on my fists with elbows digging into my lap while gazing at his direction.

"Sigh, as you are also aware, Father's objective in his mission was to seek out the perfect spot for drilling oil over a decade ago. However, there is more to this predicament than that or the apparitions I pointed out before…"


	20. Chapter 19

'After Father found the supposedly guaranteed hotspot for oil, he and his team were confronted by a seemingly insignificant problem that arose. Surrounded by his team, two of them accompanied a native Eskimo. Kneeled down in the frigid snow, he showed nothing but serenity inside his crimson red hood. His attire mostly comprised of that color, with edges of the clothing lined in a simple gray.'

'Father approached the trio, making his fury loud and clear.'

'"Okay, what the heck is the problem here?! Why aren't you men doing your jobs?!" he spouts harshly.'

'One of the team members cleared his throat and answered, "Sir, this local refuses to move from this spot. He claims this is his land and forbids us from doing anything to it."'

'Father glowered down at the crouched native.'

'"What do you mean, native? What gives you the right to declare my area?" he questioned.'

'The Eskimo lifted his head and peered right into his eyes.'

'"Sir, I cannot allow you to torment this land for your own bidding. It has been home for my people and our ancestors for generations. The everlasting peace here must not be hindered," he explained calmly.'

'Now, Father had no reason to impose any real harm to anyone, as being immoral was the last thing on his list. Yet, as much as he respected the local's morale, he strongly felt the need to fulfill what he came for. His final decision was rather crude.'

'"Well, it is MY land now, so go worship Greenland elsewhere! This country has plenty of snow and frozen lakes to do so!" he snapped, with anger as bitter as the temperature itself.'

'"Please, sir, don't exploit any alterations to this paradise. It's not right," the Eskimo pleaded, almost desperate.'

'It's amazing by the native's voice he was not at all shaken by Father's outbursts against him. He was an impenetrable wall withstanding the barrage of ferocity without recoiling. Nevertheless, Father remained firm in his call of duty and started losing his patience. When that short fuse in him ignites, it's usually best to keep your distance and be very cautious on your next choice of words.'

'"Listen, fish-eater! Tomorrow, we shall initiate my plan for my first drilling here and that's final!" he roared.'

'That's all he said to the native before stalking away furiously. As far as he was concerned, their meeting was over and he can proceed with his objective without further postponements. Despite these circumstances, however, the Eskimo was determined. Since he stated his objection against Father's wrongdoing, he protested by staying kneeled in that very spot for the pursuing days the project intervened. Around him, several oil derricks and this very station were taking shape. As I previously noted, Father named this place after Mother to honor her shortly of her passing.'

'He later told me of his growing homage for the Eskimo's perseverance. Yet, no matter the compassion, he never had any second thoughts for ceasing the project midway. To him, neither rain, sleet, snow, or Eskimo in Greenland was going to prove otherwise.'

'Eventually, time and weather took its toll on the poor native.'

'"Err, sir, could you come over here for a second?" a teamster alerted Father.'

'Upon arrival, he was perplexed about why he was summoned.'

'"What is it?" he asked.'

'"I…I don't think the Eskimo is still breathing."

'Father ducked down to examine the native more closely, checking his pulse through his thick glove.'

'"Oh, my God, you're right! He's frozen stiff…and here I actually earned total respect for his spunk! Arrrgggghhhh!" he howled, disturbing the ominous arctic peace.'

'He was definitely flabbergasted for how the tables have turned for the worse, mainly because he felt ashamed for the local's death.'

* * *

"Father ordered the Eskimo's body to be buried and soon that incident was forgotten," William concludes.

"Then those strange sightings occurred shortly after, right?" I ask.

"Correct. I deduced it was the work committed by the wrathful hands of that deceased native from the grave," he claims.

My face languishes and I shake my head in disappointment for the sin of his father's avarice to allow that poor Eskimo to just die.

"Sorry for confessing it but your father sounded like such a cold and heartless loser. All he really cared about was the wealth," I comply sternly.

"No need to atone your opinion about him," he grins. "In fact, I would assent with you regardless of him being family. He did execute a crime."

"If I were him, I'd have obeyed the Eskimo's plea and headed straight back home. Besides, the world is a big enough sphere to find oil elsewhere," I disclose.

"Mm-hmm," he hums positively. "That is why I wanted to come here in the first place. If we ever grasp the opportunity to summon the native infuriated by his untimely death and having been trapped in limbo through all these years, I want to do everything in my mortal power to soothe his anger and bestow him the eternal peace he deserves."

"As long as the spirit doesn't recognize you as your father's son and decline any sensible pleas from us. Still, despite how ugly that event reared, I am glad you've given me the rest of his story. Your benevolence for this Eskimo is truly the rationality why I was intrigued to come, setting your money offer aside. I am just as encouraged to help him seek his rightful place in heaven as you are."

"Thank you very much. I knew it in my instincts to rely on you and your obligation. I will say this again, among those other inventors at your conventions with their camera systems, I had high faith yours can detect these beings and likely more. I can only hope we aren't further provoking him or anyone else."

"I hope so, too," I smile.

"Well!" he pipes in a strong, bright pitch, clapping his hands once. "Since you endured so much today, I'll escort you back to your room and suggest you relax for the remainder of the evening. Let your poor hand a chance to recover as much as possible."

Instead of responding straightaway, my mind swiftly sweeps across the image of the fake Eskimo once again, realizing something important from my newly obtained knowledge of the real immortal.

"Um, okay," I murmur softly, still somewhat succumbed in my daydream.

"Something wrong, Andrea? You sound distressed."

"Umm…!" I fully snap out of it, darting my nervous gazes between them. "Actually, I shouldn't have strayed off course like that. I thought of something moderately dire that I'm not so certain what to do in its situation."

Lowering my head to stare at my lap, I silently curse the way I drifted off into space and how I even made mention of my preoccupation. Now I wish I am out of this pickle, yet I suspect I'm quite out of the thick of the woods.

"Aw, come on, you can tell us what's on your mind. We won't bite, honest!" Frank happily replies as persuasion.

"Andrea, we are in this together, which is why we need to cooperate as a team. If something popped up that is relevant enough to worry about, don't hesitate to inform us. Even inferior details are better than nothing sometimes. Apparently, by the look on your face, you're bothered by this dilemma," William solemnly explains.

"Except I have nothing to back up my report if you won't believe me. I seriously don't think I should spill the beans yet."

"So? Go ahead and try me," he insists.

"Oh, gosh…" I mumble, covering my face.

Maybe pointing out the oil puddle won't have too strong of an impact but we'll have to see. I am also troubled about their reactions, as it may trigger similar to when I earlier stated my belief that the ghosts forced Lisa's door on my hand.

"Fine," I sigh. "William, you informed me your father never unearthed any oil, right?"

"Yes. Where are you heading with this?" he asks bewildered.

"If he was here right now, he'd grow envious of me. I…have discovered a small source of the gunk."

As predicted, his expression transforms into utter shock, gawking at me stupidly as if I suddenly gave him a slap on the face.

"What? Where did you find it?"

"Just outside your bedroom. However, there is nothing to present because it miraculously got cleaned up so quickly before I could gather some as evidence."

"Can you at least show me?"

With another sigh to refuel my confidence, I nod soundlessly and rise to my feet on demand. Leading the pair out of the doctor's office, I retrace my steps to the very scene I spotted the oil before; throughout, none of us spout a peep. Upon arrival, I proceed ahead more nimbly without them and brake a couple feet away from where the oil used to be, leaning my back against the wall with my arms crossed.

"It was right here," I confirm, flickering my eyes once at the floor under the window sill.

Simultaneously, the two approach closer and squat down together for a better perspective. They lightly stroke their fingers across the silver-gray wall like paintbrushes, then within a few seconds, they raise their stares at me. William's countenance suggests enthrallment to know more about this interesting enigma; Frank's was more skeptical, however. In fact, he's implying I am making this up to create an unnecessary commotion.

"What's with that look, Frank?" I leer at him annoyed.

"You sure it was here?" he asks suspiciously.

"You calling me a liar?" I retort harshly.

"Hey, before you two go into a senseless argument about who's right, check this out," William intrudes, directing to the small smear of black I recall.

Watching Frank lighten up at the minor discovery, my lips perk into a prideful sneer.

"Okay, sorry for doubting you, Blu," he admits. "Still, how did you find out about this?"

"After I woke up from my nap, I decided to accomplish a petty chore or two in my room before making my way to the dining room for grub. As such, I paced in the exact direction we did just moments ago, which was what I intended. That puddle of oil in plain view was merely a surprise when I came by here," I clarify.

"What happened after that?" William asks.

"I was keen on gathering a sample of it as proof to stimulate non-believers, so I stopped at the water cooler outside the control room for a cup. By the time I returned here, the oil had disappeared."

"Very intriguing," he mumbles, glaring off into space. "Did you discover who left the oil? I recall that you mentioned activating a few cameras at this part of 'Mary' before your injury."

"Yes, and this is one of the corridors with a working camera, currently. However, I couldn't spot the culprit because, for some strange reason, they never appeared in the camera's perspective like they already knew its location and didn't want to be caught. Sorry if I can't reveal more than that," I fib calmly.

Sensing the guilt for one more slight lie to hide the identity of the fake spirit, I stare at their bedroom door with a blank expression. From the corner of my eye, I notice the men rising from their crouches and then William approaching me until he was standing in front of me.

"Andrea, I am grateful in your effort to alert us of this," he comments, gripping both hands to my upper arms as if about to hoist me up. "Regardless of it being sparse information, it is a positive start and it shall assist us more on what these immortals are up to. I recommend we keep our eyes and ears open even wider for anymore possible occurrences in the near future."

"Agreed. Thanks for believing in me," I say in gratitude. "Well, if there's nothing else, it's about time I hit the hay. We all know it's been a very stressful day for me, especially."

"Indeed," he acknowledges warmly. "Hope you get a good night's sleep, Andrea."

"Same to the both of you. Good night."

"See you tomorrow, Blu," Frank says, grinning.

"Oh, Frank, I almost forgot," I mention, holding out my good hand his way. "I know you believe me for this oil mishap, but how about a truce to settle that little dispute?"

He lightly chortles but doesn't hesitate to accept the formal handshake.

"You're actually right about that," he concedes. "Seems I have more to learn about you."

"We can discuss that another time," I wink.

Bestowing them one more glance, I leave them to the previous oil scene and make the brief trot to my room.

* * *

While brushing my teeth, I just cannot shake the shame of exposing another white lie regarding the spirit's existence. Glaring into my mirror, I look away in the anxiety built by my own reflection. Maybe next time, I will no longer bend the truth so obscurely anymore and get straight to it, if the criminal attempts to repeat their actions and I have real proof.

Then, reminiscing William's description of the Eskimo's clothing causes me to cease my hand's motion with my electric toothbrush, letting it vibrate freely in my cavernous mouth without touching anything. Odd, the fake spirit had the exact same outfit, only their colors were inverted. Did the wrongdoer mean to switch on purpose? Even if this was a genuine ghost, I doubt they would have wanted to change their clothing. Well, setting those loose opinions aside, what else would I know on the matter?

* * *

Walking casually through Mary's lobby with my gadget resting comfortably on my good palm, I perform the regular routine of checking my cameras. Suddenly, the device begins to shriek maniacally, forcing me to drop it in both the surprise and to cover my ears. It sounds like a choir of tormented souls howling out their lungs all at once. Even with my ears shielded tightly by my hands cupped to the sides of my skull, it's not helping a bit to soften the noise. Before me, a swarm of apparitions start invading the foyer, zipping through the walls and ceiling like they are not solid. Their horrifying cries sync perfectly with my gadget's, creating an even more deafening pitch on my bashing ears.

Sensing a small soaking through my linen cloth, I retreat the hand and gasp at the sight of blood. I pat my fingertips over the ear canal to ensure if it's really bleeding; same goes for the other. The combined cacophony must have been so menacing that I hadn't realized it was serious enough to make my ears weep until now. Luckily, my brain itself doesn't feel like it's going to explode at all. As the blood streams down past my hairline to my neck, some of it clogs up the canals, blocking out more of the sound than my hands ever accomplished.

I collapse to my knees, barely able to handle the torment without tempting myself to scream. More confused than scared, I try to catch sight of the flocking spirits; one of them slows down just enough for me to briefly study its features. Judging from the winter uniform and hood, I figure these are likely the natives that have lived and died in this part of Greenland. Then realizing more of them with slightly different appearances, they must be from several past generations.

As my brain desperately tries to understand what's going on or what to do in the midst of this, I discover something else. The walls and ceiling enclosing the foyer are gradually crumbling into pieces, and the main entrance flies wide open. Greenland's hazardous winds blow recklessly inside, causing me to retreat my hands from my bleeding ears and wrap my arms to my torso snugly for extra warmth as I start to shiver. Now with the desire to escape this hell, I attempt to rise from my knees, but to no avail. My legs have transformed into rubber by my growing weakness from the cold and are unable to obey even a simple command of shifting a foot. Helpless in my position, all I can do is observe the walls further deteriorate as the banshees cruise to a halt. Suddenly, an abrupt gust slams against me and I tumble to the rugged floor with my face kissing it hard. Struggling to get back on my knees with gradual success, I cuddle myself even tighter.

"Please, stop. Make it all s-stop," I beseech the ghosts through chattering teeth.

One of them parks in front of me and stares down in silent response. Looking up, I gasp at the gnarly sight. This being has no nose or mouth defining its snow-white countenance, and the eyes are sickly-green illuminations without pupils. From the eyes alone, this ghost doesn't seem too happy at all.

"Don't you think you mortals have provoked enough trouble as it is?! We wanted our paradise to remain untouched by your grubby hands of greed and pride! Now it is cursed, all thanks to you!" the local shouts.

A large piece of the wall crashes to the ground mere feet from me and I nearly fall over in shock. I gaze around frantically as more pieces pull away from the lobby's original foundation by wind and gravity.

"I was not responsible for letting you freeze to death and construct on the land you cherish so much!" I burst out, blindly assuming this is the Eskimo from Maxwell's story. "We're here to help undo the damages done by the past and seek out the peace you deserve!"

"Lies!" he scolds, pointing a transparent finger at me. "You returned to finish what you started and we will not tolerate it anymore! Leave now if you want your pathetic lives spared, mortal!"

The lobby is nearly leveled down in ruins now, and finding the depleted strength to peek over my shoulder, I discover the entire station has fallen, including the watch tower. I'm able to turn back towards the enraged spirit before the frigid temperature paralyzes me completely. My arms are literally glued to my sides, and both my breathing and my blinking have slowed. Even my exhaled puffs of air freeze before escaping my gaping mouth.

"Please…don't…do this…to me…" I beg feebly.

The Eskimo's merciless glare remains unchanged, however, and his corrupt eyes flash wildly like Halloween decorations.

"You shall pay for your immoral deeds committed to us and our home! You will all learn sooner or later you cannot meddle with nature!" he warns before vanishing, leaving his allies to watch me suffer.

The sky darkens to utter blackness, similar to the evening I was out to retrieve my device. Only this time, the bleak void has consumed everything except for the barraging snow and the banshees. As my brain continues scrambling for more logical explanations to this madness, I don't realize what is happening to me now. The tips of my sneakers turn white and frosty, and the icy effect rises from my shins to my hips to my chest at a steady pace. I wince in pain until the impact consumes my entire body. Unable to keep myself up, the treacherous winds make one final attempt and sling my stiff body over.

* * *

My eyes snap open and zip side-to-side frantically as delayed breathing ensues. Noticing I'm curled in a tight ball on the floor with my arms wrapped to my torso, I eventually see that I am back in my bedroom and the place isn't in ruins. Unfurling my body and stretching out my tense limbs from the awkward position, I stumble to my feet and sit on the edge of the bed. As I compose myself together, I reflect back on the more important pieces to the nightmare.

How could such a peaceful and tolerant Eskimo from Maxwell's story turn into a vile monster? Does he not want our help to find unity into the afterlife? I suppose that anger was pent up by a developing grudge against Maxwell after his death so it is feasible. I'd expect that with our new team, however, he would actually accept our compassion as a new hope.

After a quick trip the restroom, I bury myself back into my covers and fight off the deliberation as I return to sleep. Maybe the next dream won't be so bad.


	21. Chapter 20

Day 2

Waking up to another pleasant morning, I feel more rejuvenated than expected after experiencing last night's episode of terror. Luckily, the remainder of the night after that went smoothly, or else I might be starting the day slightly grumpy and without much energy to siphon throughout. Remembering that my primary job was all done yesterday, there is honestly nothing else to do besides checking my cameras for any suspicious activities, which sounds quite boring to me but people do get paid for something like this. I can always make myself look busy by pretending my eyes are glued to the gadget.

Once the last gnarly crease on the bed's quilt has been flattened out completely by several tugs, I am ready to tackle the majority of my regimen outside my room. Tucking the device into my pocket, I spin towards the door. Before getting too close though, the door flies open unexpectedly, revealing Owen through its frame. Upon a nimble reflex, I hide my wounded hand behind my back in hopes he didn't spot it beforehand.

"Oh, good morning, Andrea! I wanted to converse with you briefly on an important matter before heading down to the dining room for breakfast, but I wasn't certain if you were still asleep or not," he chirps.

"Good morning to you, too, Owen! Nah, I've been awake for some time and was about to do the same thing so no worries. What's on your mind?" I ask brightly.

He does not answer right away, but instead glares at me with an uneasy concern. Within seconds of waiting in confusion, I finally leer at him agitated.

"Sorry about that," he withdraws. "It just seemed like you didn't receive a very sound sleep last night."

"Really?" I question, baffled that I didn't actually spend much time inspecting my face while in the bathroom a little while ago. "Well, I had a little night trauma but afterwards I snoozed like a baby."

As his silent gawk persists, I express more annoyance that suggests he should stop before it gets nasty.

"Owen, it's not polite to stare," I calmly remind him.

"Oh, right, um…" he stutters, his eyes zip at random pieces to avoid further direct eye contact. "This favor I'm asking is mainly for the séance. Since I will be too occupied in getting the lab ready, I need someone who can spare an extra hand with this. Are you up for it?"

"Hey, I am willing to assist with anything. After all, I owe you so much for what happened yesterday."

"That's right," he confirms in astonishment. "William had informed me you encountered an accident and wouldn't be available for the rest of the day. Mind I ask what happened?"

I postpone with indecision, since he may resume the rude stare on my hand this time. With a groan, I expose it from my back into plain view, and his eyes bulge in reaction.

"Lisa's door sandwiched it hard against its frame," I disclose. "After I stormed into Doctor Benson's office in peril, he stitched up the cuts and wrapped my hand. I expect to see him later today to have them cleaned and re-bandaged again."

Another itch begins brewing inside the cloth, and I massage carefully around the wounds with pressure to try diminishing it.

"Sorry about that," he sympathizes, for likely both the injury and my discomfort. "Although I was eager to commence the ritual yesterday, after hearing your sudden bad news, I was more troubled that you weren't going to make the séance even if you completed your main objective. For you, I delayed the event because I still insist everyone to be present."

"I would have recommended you to go ahead without me, yet after hearing William recite the rest of his father's story to me, I was more than determined to help out our Eskimo friend," I point out.

"That's the spirit!" he happily blurts, persuading me to giggle out of turn. "Just out of curiosity, why did her door smash your hand?"

"I had two ideas left uncrossed after knowing from Frank there was actually nothing wrong with the way it behaved. One was the door had a timer and I stuck around too long."

"What's the second?"

"The even more incredulous one, which I fully regretted mentioning to William and Frank after seeing their faces. Someone tampered with the door on purpose and a strange part of me is predicting it wasn't any one of us."

"You think an apparition had done it?"

I nod steadily and sigh.

"That's why our gathering has to initiate soon, to deter anymore erratic incidents like that. I don't believe in your latter suspicion as greatly, but if that's truly the case, we need to strike the root of the problem," he says.

"I can only anticipate the best from here on out, Owen, whatever it takes," I mutter solemnly, returning my hand to my back.

"So, I request a few items that's required for the ritual to perform accordingly. Even though you already dedicated yourself for the task, will you have the time to tackle it?"

"Yes, I should have plenty of time, and even if not, I can still volunteer by keeping an eye out for them. Again, I owe you."

"You do not owe me anything else than just the items, Andrea," he shakes his head calmly and grins.

"Okay, what do you need?"

"A few candles, a handful of ash, and a small amount of non-human blood," he reveals.

"Ash…why do I have this sudden inkling I've seen that recently?" I ponder, pushing the pieces together without straying off too far. "The others will take awhile since I am clueless of where to even begin searching," I revert back to regular tone.

"If you can gather those for me, I'll be thankful. In the meantime, I will ask Ben if he can aid me in preparing the lab. Thanks very much, Andrea."

"Anytime, Owen. You can always count on me!"

With a short exchange of hand waves to send Owen on his way, he vanishes past my door frame in the direction of the foyer. I tiptoe closer to the door for it to stay open in my presence and I study the familiar picture closely with a solemn expression. Inquisitive if last night's horror fantasy was merely a warning for all of us, maybe the way Lisa's door operated WAS a normal function. On the other hand, was the native spirit serious in saying we will eventually pay for our crimes, even if we're not the evildoers? If so, why am I first on their list for all these misfortunes?

Shoving the newly combined disturbance aside, I start brainstorming the whereabouts of these three items Owen requested. I'm not sure if it was coincidental that he decided to appoint me this objective over the other teamsters, or maybe he did it as a test since I am a new member. Either way, I deem myself thankful for this fortuitous turn of events, since now I have something else to do instead of just scanning my cameras all day.

My memory finally pinpoints where I've seen the ash before, which is from the burning incense in Chin's room. Also remembering the paper cup from last night, I snatch it and shoot for the door.

Once again, the strong fragrance of the incense invades my lungs before I step foot into his room. Briefly braking in my tracks, I invite more of the aroma by breathing in deeper for the added pleasure, like I've become addicted to it. As new invigoration pumps through my veins from that, I proceed forth to the pots on the table. Pulling out one of the trays, I gingerly sweep the ash into a neat pile with my fingers and shove bits of it into the cup at a time. Done, I slide the tray back under the pot before any new ash falls onto the table, and I gather up whatever remaining specks have escaped during my chore by sliding them over the table's edge where the cup awaits below.

Good, that's one of the items already obtained, which was quite easy. With the cup filled to approximately half full of the chunky ash, I assume it should be enough for Owen's liking. Only small dilemma present is deducing how to cover it up so the ash won't fly out by a careless exhale or a drop of the cup. Maybe Watson will have something to satisfy that cause. After heading back to my room, I set it on the exact same spot on the table as before. Now I can settle with a small reward of delicious food before pressing onward.

* * *

Delighted in my fill of scrambled eggs and French toast, I enter Watson's kitchen for the usual disposal of my dirty dishes. Again, I was lucky that those oblivious to my wounds have not noticed the hand, but mainly because I had surprisingly little trouble handling the fork with my left hand while the right remained hidden in my lap. My unappreciated hand sure has recently amazed me in utilizing skills I hardly relied on.

After placing the dishes by the sink, I remember the cup of ash the instant my eyes dart to the boxes of aluminum foil on the shelf above the herbs and spices.

"Hey, Watson, may I take a piece of foil?" I ask, loud enough for him to hear through the sizzling food on the pans. "I need some to cover up an item I gathered for Owen's ritual so they can't escape so easily until used."

"Sure, Andrea, help yourself," he replies.

I carefully rip off a suitable piece without obscurely tearing up the rest on accident. I turn away then quickly look back when a compact box of matches by the foil catches my nimble attention. Thinking Owen might need them to light the candles, I snatch a few sticks without Watson noticing.

"Say, will you be coming to the séance, Watson? Just curious."

"I honestly cannot hold any promises to that, I'm afraid. If there's ever a rare, slower hour in the midst of my chores when it occurs then sure. If Mr. Carter urges me to come though, I'll have to find a good stopping point."

"I know what you mean. Alright-y then," I bid my final words before zipping out of the kitchen like a raving bullet.

* * *

Back in my bedroom, I lay the foil flat over the cup's rim and wrap it down carefully to avoid tipping the cup and spill its contents or applying too much strength to crush it. While finishing up, I reminisce the vision of the kitchen but no sign of blood lying around, although Watson never served us any actual meat this morning. Nonetheless, I now believe the kitchen is the best place to find the next item since he's bound to mess with raw meat marinating in its own blood soon enough. Only item left with no indication whatsoever are the candles. Who would have brought a stack with them on this trip is beyond me, yet I can hazard a guess or two.

I check my gadget for anything my cameras might have uncovered since last night. So far, up until now, nothing unusual has happened. Something from the watch tower grabs my attention, however. Doctor Chin Sung Lee is presently up there, sitting at the heart of the balcony in a crossed position with his eyes closed. The wishful thought of whether he has candles perks my mind but I don't remember seeing any while visiting his room to gather the ash. That would've made my little scavenger hunt much easier if he did have two of the three items for me.

Within a few minutes of just watching over him like a curious angel, I decide to pay him a short visit. Hopefully, I won't interfere with whatever he's doing, which seems to be meditation. I can't imagine someone of his age performing some strenuous yoga up there. Besides, we haven't properly met since I learned of his name and he is deemed last on the list.


	22. Chapter 21

After entering the reverse L-shaped corridor with the inaccessible door's red eye glaring down at me first thing, I approach the white ladder and place my right foot on the lowest rung. Ascending the long, cylinder enclosure with no windows and only several columns of lights to help guide me safely, I notice how my faint panting echoes around me. Out of mischief, I nearly burst out a high squeal to see how many times it will ricochet off the rounded walls, but abruptly stop on a gulp. The obnoxious noise might disturb Chin from his peace up there, and besides, the constant rumbling of the ladder with each step I accomplish is producing plenty of sound. I wonder if it really is sturdy enough or it's prone to rattle regardless of the metal's strength to withstand a human's shifting weight.

Eventually reaching the top, I cautiously plant both feet on the wooden balcony as I let go of the ladder, not daring to look down at the vertical tunnel below me to arouse any fears. I notice Chin, who still occupies the same spot as from the current footage, has not bothered to open his eyes to see who showed up. He must be so entranced in his meditation that his senses have been deemed oblivious to the surrounding environment, like what happened to me last night back in the dining room before Frank touched my shoulder. Maybe spouting out that howl while still climbing the ladder would not have mattered, but I am not devious enough to accept any unnecessary risks. Sneaking past behind him quietly, except for the occasional worn squeak of the flood boards as I apply weight onto each step, I stop at one of the window panes overlooking what is hardly much of the station herself but rather what extends beyond Greenland.

"Oh, wow…" I whisper faintly under my breath.

The storm that had terrorized us before arriving at the station the other day and continued to brew during our stay has completely dissipated. The sky is clear with no scattered clouds for endless miles, displaying its glorious cerulean dome with a lighter gradient painted just above the horizon's diameter. The noon sun is striking the blanket of snow that spreads across the landscape, deeming it blinding to stare at excessively. Ranges of snow dunes, from small, round mosquito bites to almost mountain-like bulge out of the ground. Although Greenland is a very chilly region, it is undoubtedly a white heaven on earth, only the clouds that could define heaven in people's imaginations are replaced with pure snow.

"Goodness, gracious. This is just beyond majestic. I've never seen anything like it," I softly comment, awe-struck in the view.

"Indeed, it is," a low, hoarse voice responds behind me.

Realizing it was Chin who just now spoke since nobody else is present, I divert my attention away from the addicting scenery and shift my body to hide the presence of my wounded hand resting on the window sill as I turn towards him. His lips perk into a serene, turtle's smile and his eyelids peel away to unveil the dark-chocolate brown eyes that seem to have witnessed a lot within their lifetime.

"I was expecting you, Miss Blu. You figured this was impeccable timing to finally come see me while taking a break from your work," he says.

"Wait, how did you know about that?" I ask, slightly confused.

"When a person's mind is not bombarded by problems affecting their psyche, it helps me to read their clean thoughts like a new book," he winks. "In fact, you had a split second of interest back a little while ago in the dining room."

"I don't think I ever planned it then," I retort in minor disbelief.

"Yes, you did," his smile stretches even wider.

Wrecking my brain to assume for certain if that's true, I then vaguely recall a memory of the very concept. I guess I was so overwhelmed by other dilemmas I did not realize its existence most of the time. It's like as if it did appear to me at first, but was crudely shoved to the back by a fatter crowd and was trying desperately despite these obstacles to regain attention.

"Actually, you're correct about that," I confess in somber defeat.

"I am considered a very honest man and never hesitated to reveal the truth, although some were painful to swallow. It was the very first notion I detected after you reappeared from a shroud of distress over something else. In its duration, I could not grasp a clue of what was happening, like being trapped in a thick fog with little room for sight," he concludes.

"Yes, I was bothered by a more important situation. Um…" I stop short, glancing over at my hand. "I guess now won't hurt to mention this since we are alone and I feel more comfortable showing it to individual people rather than simultaneously."

"Is this your hand that you speak of?" he wonders.

I could have sworn my heart just skipped a beat the second he said that, causing an inferior wooziness in my head as blood vessels suddenly have no push for momentum. On the other hand, I am more than astounded in a droll way of what he's revealed to me within the past couple minutes our conversation sparked. I back away to expose my hand, twisting my wrist to show the bandages in full rotation. Surprisingly, his countenance does not seem to change a tad, and instead he nods slowly in compliance.

"After you exited the dining room in a hurry last night, Doctor Benson partially told me of your affliction. That's why I am not as flabbergasted as you anticipated," he explains.

"Yeah, I will tell everyone when I have the patience to deal with their overly caring or rude responses. I believe half of you people know about it, so far. I don't wish to create an uproar by having some pitiful linen cloth wrapped to my hand. When you all gawked at me like hungry vultures last night, that's what frightened me to flee," I solemnly mention.

"I understand your predicament fully, Miss Blu. It only elevated your humiliation when your sudden yelp alerted everyone to eyeball you suspiciously. What you really did was nothing wrong."

I nod with a content sigh for his compassion, then look back at Greenland's scenery outside for a few seconds.

"So, I guess you are meditating up here, Doctor?"

"Correct, I am. There is not a better place in the world to conceive into my subconscious than right here in the watch tower. It is not exactly the Himalayas but Greenland's remote energy seems to emit just as effectively. I simply contemplate to purify my body and soul, and to free my mind of any evil thoughts I perceived throughout the day," he replies.

"I agree with you one-hundred percent this is a very lovely sight here, especially when you can observe the snowy wonderland without being too cold."

Instead of Chin responding to another of my comments, he begins to hum deep within his chest with worn eyes shut once more.

"Well, then you likely know the reason why I am here, not just for the view. We never struck a chance to properly introduce each other for even a day of our arrival in 'Mary', and I've only known you briefly from Ben. Even though I am very shy and could never conjure the right words to say hello without rambling on, like now, I don't mind making acquaintances with others when I can," I steadily clarify.

"It's splendidly fine, my dear," he acknowledges in such a tranquil tone it almost sounds demonic. "When I learned of you from not just our colleagues, I envisioned you will have no trouble fitting in with us. At the very least, we somewhat know each other like friends, and despite of you as a complete outsider in our family, you've earned quite a name for yourself recently. I also respect people greatly who are keen to meet others to kindle a small relationship."

"Pardon me for asking but how did you become part of this expedition?" I ask curiously.

"Hmm, my profession is that of a paranormal scientist, and I have dedicated the majority of my secluded life to the unusual events that occur within our world, similar to some of our other brethren. In ways, it is a very intriguing subject to chip away at that promote diverse expectations. I believe the paranormal we may experience are nothing more than a scientific phenomenon, and the apparitions are energy fields left by the deceased," he states.

"Hey, you and Ben may have different outlooks on this paranormal business but they seem to correlate together on certain notes. Actually, as for me, even though I prefer the more scientific side of how we are here, I am not a complete atheist either. I have faith we all bear a soul and the afterlife exists for us no matter where we go in the end. I personally never wanted to dive too deep into all this though."

"We have our own beliefs to dwell on and you have yours. Besides, it's best to figure that out on our own," he complies.

"You do have quite a profound theory yourself, Doctor Lee," I compliment.

"Thank you, dear. With Owen's séance underway, I hope we can communicate with our lost soul."

"Same here, as I've become totally committed as everyone else on this station to help out that native. Speaking of Owen, he asked me to obtain a few items for the gathering, which hasn't been too difficult to achieve so far but it will require some more time for the scavenger hunt. I already found one of them, however."

"You are free to take the ash from my incense trays to give to Mr. Carter."

I blink at Chin with a dumb surprise, ignorant for a second he can read lucid minds.

"How did you know I needed ash?" I ask.

"Don't worry if I just deciphered your mind on that because I honestly did not know for sure. No, I've participated in numerous séances before, and mostly ash was one of the key ingredients needed. Normally, ash from a cremated person or pet produces the best effects but other ash has worked fine, too."

"Oh, okay," I sigh with relief. "You know what, as much as I've been amazed by your special ability, I am not too perturbed by it. At least I know you can't transform me into something grotesque if I think wrongly of you."

"Ha!" he expels a laugh so grainy it boggles my nerves. "Did you make sure to not leave a mess on the table before departing my room?"

"Yes, I did. I scooped up all I could from one of the trays since I doubt Owen will need a lot."

"Very well then. I will save up some more in a separate container and not throw it away just in case he does. What other ingredients did he request?"

"Blood and candles."

"Alas, I cannot help you with either. I don't carry candles for my private sessions and I have very little knowledge on the whereabouts of any blood aside from the very vessels cycling through my old arteries."

"I have a good hunch where the blood could be, because he's only asking for non-human blood anyway. When I was at the kitchen earlier after breakfast, I concluded it was the utmost place to search whenever Watson deals with raw meat."

"Ah, that is a very wise start. I do wish you luck on that and the candles."

"Thanks very much, Doctor."

Unable to brew more words to keep our conversation fueled and running, Chin stares at me with a dull yet content expression a little longer before closing his eyes and humming again. He likely anticipated our short meeting has come to a finish anyway, and my scrambling for finding more words to spark up another topic will be fruitless anyway. Instead, I shrug off the assumption and resume my sightseeing of the magnificent view without another straining thought.


	23. Chapter 22

About a good while or so into examining Greenland's environment after my dialogue with Chin had ended on a positive note, I nod silently at the appealing idea of personally meeting Mother Nature outside since it is pointless to miss such a convenience. The cold I am not too troubled over because the sun should help to warm the air a tad despite its somewhat low position on the cerulean dome.

Tiptoeing past Chin again to avoid more groans from the floor boards and probably startle him, I slowly find both feet on a ladder rung and descend. Before losing total sight of him through the rising floor, he opens his eyes and gazes right into mine with a tranquil smile. I freeze in response, stoking a tiny fear of nearly falling over by my abrupt stop.

"It was a pleasure conversing with you, Miss Blu. Hope you enjoy that outdoor weather," he politely acknowledges with a wink.

"Thank you, Doctor Lee. Take care of yourself and I'll see you later," I bid happily and proceed, leaving him confined in his subconscious world.

* * *

Upon returning to my bedroom to get myself ready, I trot to the wardrobe and yank off one of my more excelling winter gear from their hangers. Assuming my thick jeans will fare well enough to shield my legs, I put on a heavy sweater before an equally stuffed snow-white jacket over it and button it to the base of my neck. With moderate difficulty of pulling one of my black leather gloves over my bandaged hand, I eventually succeed due to more patient planning and finish by digging my more permissive hand into the second. Finally, I replace my well-worn sneakers with a pair of sturdy boots that go up halfway to my legs.

All set for departure, I abandon my room in a nimble flight and find myself standing in front of Mary's entrance seconds following. While calmly staring at the door, I get irked with the familiar feeling that someone may catch me stepping out and attempt to restrain me. Except, there is no real jeopardy in this currently, as the weather is utterly peaceful. I won't hesitate to come back inside whenever I start to feel too cold.

With that motivation pumping through my system even harder with vigor, I tap the short combination of buttons on the LED panel for unlocking the door and exit without an impending thought hindering me.

The subzero temperature swiftly strikes hard against my cheeks like simultaneous double slaps, causing my teeth to chatter from its impact. So far, the winter wear is doing a swell job keeping me warm and crisp inside, and the boots are helping to prevent any snow from seeping into my socks.

Watching the exhaled evaporation from my gaping mouth change into ice particles with interest, I inhale deeper breaths to relish the succulent arctic air entering my lungs as much as I can. Although this environment is much nippier than what I'm used to back at home with the much milder winters, it is nonetheless very lovely. Looking down at the bed of undisturbed snow, the sun's rays reflecting off the solidified water molecules zap straight into my eyes and I rapidly blink from the increasing pain of being blinded. I lightly chuckle at the wiser lesson of not doing that again. Then I notice the embedded tracks left by us the other night are still in shape, however they do seem inches shallower by yesterday's calmer blitz.

With one more breath as a swig of energy for the upcoming hike, I motion forth with ease. The snow says 'hello' to my boots with its crunching as I apply weight onto each advancing step carefully to avoid stumbling over. I decide to pursue the dying tracks as I first perceived the view of the helicopter leaning on its side. Able to study the damages more clearly with the brighter weather, I grit my teeth and moan through their tight crevices in repulsion. The sorry condition of its underbelly and the axles seem even more serious than before, and the axles can only hold the heavy bird up feebly. Recalling Frank's main concern on the engine demanding urgent repairs over this, it leaves me unchanged in his plans. I am optimistic enough that the chopper can still take off in this state, but I ponder how it will land a second time.

While approaching the helicopter, I notice a few oil drums lined against the ascending base of the helipad and wade towards them. As soon as I am within arm's reach, my body shudders from not the cold but the unsettling suspicion of being watched. Now with my instincts bugging me that I shouldn't be here in regards to the warning, I peek over my shoulder to ensure myself there is nobody around. The only points of interest presently are the station's vast foundation and a few odd silhouettes created by the glaring sun and snow further away.

I pry open the lid from one of the barrels and lean it against the helipad with a resonating clang. The drum inside is empty except for a thin, dark coating smudged on its inner circumference. Not daring to touch it to flatter my stupid curiosity, I lower my head inside while holding my hair back for a whiff. Judging from the familiar, putrid stench, it's like the oil I found last night, then it suddenly hits me. As obvious as it is, could that oil have possibly come from here? This coating, after all, does seem moderately fresh and unaffected by the weather. Already aware Maxwell never recovered any oil during his excavation, were these barrels really filled with some? Maybe they were meant for storing whatever oil was unearthed and then prepared to be exported, but due to the invasion of the Eskimo spirits terrorizing the team, they were abandoned and forgotten. It does partially clarify why that imposter carried a small canister but it still does not distinguish why.

Leaving the enigma for now with several pieces to the puzzle fit into place, I close the lid back over the barrel and study the chopper a little longer before heading back towards the station. My cheeks right now are very cold, close to numb by the surrounding temperature but it's not alarming just yet. My attire has managed even better than I predicted with keeping me cozy, despite the sparse shivers.

Bypassing the station's entrance, I instead tread through a narrow, much flatter path to the structures I spotted moments ago. As the silhouettes become more definite with each step, I eventually conclude they must be the oil derricks I heard about. Each are approximately fifty feet from one another, and the snow that has consumed their bases make them appear strangely shorter than normal. Nature has taken her toll on them dearly, as only one remains fully intact while the rest have either fallen over or are standing in ruins with pieces missing. Those lying on the ground are nearly engulfed by the developed dunes, shaping them slightly different. The breezes blowing persistently through the steel skeletons of these behemoths are emitting ominous hums of harmony, making it more haunting than not.

While inspecting the derricks, I notice something poking out of the snow by one of the fallen towers. Squatting, I pull out the mysterious object by its handle slowly, until I reveal a pickaxe. It seems quite aged from being deserted out here through all these years of torment by perilous nature, but the handle itself is still moderately sturdy. Figuring it won't hurt to claim it since it lacks an owner, I levitate from my crouch with the pick in my good hand. Done with observing the derricks long enough, I continue on down the path with the pick twirling slowly in my hands for a small entertainment.

Looping around a snow dune taller than me, I instantly gasp with excitement at the next sight. There is a frozen lake surrounded by more rows of dunes, and its shoreline carves the path about halfway around its perimeter. A few feet away from the closest point of the path is a compact hole punctured into the lake's solid sheet of ice to unveil the bleak water below. The path abruptly ends after the lake by a large boulder, lodged in between tall dunes that seem too treacherous to climb over. Deciding against my admiration for the lake for now, I resume my hike until I am forced to stop.

While studying the rather rocky situation, I remember the pickaxe clutched in my grip and sneer at the next idea blooming. With all my feminine might, I thrust at the beast and a small chip flies right off, leaving behind a white dent on the surface. I repeat swinging at it in the fun perseverance, but with barely any real success at attempting to level this sucker down, I finally give up in exhaustion. Not only is it futile to attack an obstacle this monstrous, this old pick likely can't handle the entire job anyway. Maybe a more suitable alternative will present itself to me in the near future that will work tremendously, but in the meantime, all I can do is imagine what is on the other side.

Focusing back on the lake, I become paralyzed in awe of the majestic view before me. As the loose snow covers the shoreline, the lake does not appear as vast as it very well might be. The same dunes circling it have been perfectly rounded by the winds deliberately molding them into shape, and the crystallized snow glitters by the sun like stars painted on the night sky. Oh, speaking of which, I bet it's easy to see millions of stars since we are well off from any major civilizations. It's still too bad Owen's telescope doesn't have a working lens, and even if it does, it may be impossible to carry that heavy equipment without an extra hand.

Detecting a few darker objects near the lake's gaping hole, I creep as close as possible to the edge without actually placing a careless foot on the ice itself. From a slightly enhanced perspective although still elusive, they seem to be…fish. Now wondering if they honestly are, which means facing another possible dangerous challenge embraced by my curiosity, I brace a leg firm to the ground as I slam my free boot on the icy surface to determine whether it's strong enough to withstand my weight. Never proving any signs of fractures after more stomping, I drop the pickaxe gently in the snow and proceed very gingerly. By sharing an ideal amount of weight between each driving foot, it seems to help me not slip by the slick ice.

Within reach of the fish, I crouch down and hesitantly start poking at the nearest one like an easily disturbed child. They all seem to be well preserved by the frigid environment, like they've been confined in a freezer for some time. It's uncertain how long they have been dead and out of the water, however. Either a predator hooked a few to eat and abandoned the rest, or the fish accidentally jumped out while trying to evade another predator underwater and could not flop their way back in. They could provide as decent meals tonight, or at least Snowflake will enjoy them.

After gathering all the fish and huddling them tight against my chest with an arm, I rise back to full height and steer back towards the shore slowly. It's a relief my very composed maneuver through the ice has made an otherwise tricky feat a cinch to accomplish, as I have not even made a minor slip. I regain possession of the pick with my only unoccupied hand and bestow the lake a final glance before deciding to retrace my steps back. I believe I have witnessed all I could throughout my trip, and besides that, I am beginning to feel nippy and my face feels utterly numb. Nevertheless, this was a very fun tour and I loved it. Next time, I will snatch someone who is brave enough to handle the cold and we can observe Greenland together.

As I return to the location of the old oil derricks, my mostly attentive eyes instantly catch somebody walking down the other end of the path, before disappearing behind a dune it snakes around. I nearly drop a fish in anxiety as my tracks abruptly freeze into place. With the image barely captured in my mind, I can see that their outfit was gray with a little red.

So, it's that same Eskimo imposter from last night. My eyes narrow as new energy overcomes the fear developed, and I crank my legs to full gear. In hopes I will catch up to them, I don't know what will happen if I do.

After zooming past the exact spot I previously spotted them, I don't see them anywhere, not even on the way to the station. The phobia quickly rebounds as my intuition warns me to be very careful in this dilemma. They could be currently hiding behind one of these nearby dunes and waiting for the opportunity to jump me. Even with this pickaxe as an appropriate weapon, I am not very adept at fighting in self-defense and thus will most likely get overwhelmed.

Under escalating anxiety, I dash for the station's entrance, not caring about if I accidentally drop any of the fish in my flight. I stop before the door can detect my presence and spin towards the direction I just came from, willing to know if I was accurate of the danger. A minute of nothing else occurring besides my heavy panting obscuring my vision, I sigh and return back inside.


	24. Chapter 23

I swiftly return to my room after that brief encounter with the elusive spirit as I was hiking back to 'Mary'. Although more than eager to demand where they ran off using my device, this actually occurred outside while my working cameras remained inside, plus my hands are currently full. The clever concept of activating more cameras outside the station is more than feasible, yet I don't have enough to cover her entire boundary.

That was another occasion I can consider myself very fortuitous for emerging from its jeopardy unscathed. When I was standing around stupidly by those dunes after losing sight of the perpetrator, that being had every perfect second then to seize an attack on me, yet they didn't. Either it was not exactly part of their plan or weren't interested in jumping me and possibly end my life right there. Still can't fathom why I feel I've been spared, especially as I am replaying pieces of last night's trauma.

After setting down the pickaxe on the table with a solid "clunk" by its iron head, I enter the bathroom to deal with the fish still bundled against my chest. They also seem to be defrosting somewhat by the surrounding heat, as I am starting to notice a little soaking through my jacket by the melted condensation. Looking down into their soulless eyes, I can bet their deaths were unexpected and too soon, but at least it wasn't very uncomfortable. In a way, it's like putting them to sleep whenever they are dying to speed up the process painlessly.

I load the bathtub to halfway with cold water and plunge them in one-by-one gently to avoid too much splashing. Watching them bump against each other and the inner walls of the tub by the rippling waves like bumper cars, I hope for a couple bits of good news out of them: one, they haven't been gone too long to be worth cooking, and two, whether they will thaw fast enough for tonight. Watson may have a more improved solution to the latter problem, but for now, thawing them in cold water seems viable enough.

As the faux Eskimo reappears in mind, I leave the fish in the bathroom and begin undressing my winter gear. After removing the gloves gingerly to avoid undoing my linen bandage, I stuff them back in their wardrobe's drawer and return the heavier clothing to their hangers. Then I snatch the pick and hide it behind the hung clothes on top of the drawers, just so no one will detect it immediately if my wardrobe is ever exposed. Honestly, I'm not sure why I took it but I think my intuition unearthed the same purpose for it as my T-Laser, deducing it will come in handy than just chipping away at giant boulders. Finally, I dig my feet back into my sneakers after withdrawing the boots; fortunately, I do not have to change socks as they were utterly protected from any possible specks of snow sneaking inside.

Finally arms-free and unoccupied of other duties, I take out my device. Instantly, my reflexes freeze as a powerful brainstorm brews into view. Instead of hiding behind the dunes like I originally suspected out of paranoia, the Eskimo spirit may have entered the station in the midst of their absence and have been roaming around freely ever since. I rewind the footage taped by the camera overlooking the main entrance until I detect the reverse motion of the spirit walking in from the right and then outside, allowing the door open for a few seconds before pressing on. I follow them with each passing camera until they park in front of the doctor's office, looking around casually as if waiting for a second of no one peeking to perform the next task. To my surprise which causes my heart to lurch, their black, eyeless pits at one point nearly come into contact with the camera.

Leering closer to the screen, they pull out another small container of oil and pour a decent amount on the floor to create a puddle like the first. Then they storm into the lab like a bat out of hell whilst avoiding the oil. I check inside and soon discover the familiar scenario of nobody being present by sight or sound, not even in the cooler room.

"Darn it!" I spout angrily at my device.

This thorn to my side has really grown to agitating, and I despise wild goose chases that lead to useless destinations. This loser never wants to cooperate when they are closer to being caught red-handed, still leaving me to wonder if they indeed know of every camera's location throughout the station.

Reverting back to the new oil, I conclude with the persistence of not letting this slip beneath the cracks this time, and dash out of the room with the gadget still clutched in hand. Along the way, I stop at the water cooler for another cup. Upon arrival, it seems the Eskimo was lenient to leave the oil undisturbed long enough for me to take what I can. Well, that is one piece of pleasant news out of this chase. I crouch in front of the puddle and carefully scoop up a small amount into the cup without creating much of a mess on its side. As the final drop falls back into the dark pool with hardly a splash, I inspect the evidence and sneer at the small success finally achieved.

Now, the one more task I can dare myself at is waiting for the Eskimo in case they will attempt to escape with me on guard. As far as I know, they never left the lab after I lost them.

Leaning my back against the wall across from the lab's door, I watch it in full cognition. This guy has indeed been playing their game well, evading my cameras at opportunities that would have otherwise been proven useful for my private investigation. I do have them cornered but I still won't know what to do if they might retaliate in hostility during their flee to deter any live witnesses. I don't possess the pickaxe this time and the only obscure way to not be destroyed is perform nearly impossible moves seen in fighting games.

The corridor's northern entry opens without warning and I completely divert my attention towards it instead of the lab's. It's Owen accompanied by Ben, and while starting to comprehend the words of their conversation, I can tell they are referring to the séance. I cock my eyebrows and glare at them with shock as they narrowly miss the oil puddle between them and don't notice it at all. Once Ben's eyes dart my way, however, his face lightens quickly like a light bulb.

"Hey, hey, Andrea! Say, what are you doing over there?" he asks cheerfully, followed by a slight concern.

"Oh, did you obtain all the items already and just waiting for me?" Owen questions.

I massage my face in utter disbelief of their oblivion and resume staring at the puddle presently inches from their shoes. Instead of rolling with the temptation to flat show them, I hand the cup to Owen. Like before, he delays taking what I insist, bestowing me a bewildered expression until he looks inside. With bulging eyes to contrast with his dark complexion, he eventually possesses the cup with both hands, cautious to not touch the cup's side that is partially drenched by the oil where I was gathering it.

"What…what is this?" he wonders confused.

I'm astounded he is asking me instead of figuring it out himself, as it is obvious what the gunk is. What other substance has that gloomy, sleek texture bleaker than molasses? Again, I don't respond and shake my head disapprovingly. Ben pushes his glasses closer to his face and leans in closer out of curiosity. Owen sniffs at the stuff inside and swirls it around slowly.

"Wait a minute…could this be…oil?" he murmurs.

They gawk at each other, dumbfounded by the discovery before them. Starting to sense the arrogant teenager in me fuming from their lack of faith, I sigh sharply in frustration. On the other hand, I am well delighted they are the first to actually witness this out of the blue when there is more proof provided. Owen gives Ben the cup, and Ben repeats the motion of churning the oil to make sure. Then they simultaneously lift their gazes at me with suspicion, like I am somehow guilty of this. As the teenager tries to cool down, I sigh again and point at the floor between their feet without removing my eyes from either of them. Finally noticing the rest of the gunk, they gasp in unison.

"I don't know why you gave me that look like I committed this crime! I did NOT leave that oil here!" I snap harshly. "The real rationality I am here is my camera caught whoever else dumped it before vanishing into the lab. The cup is merely an indication in case no one will believe me firsthand," I explain, more calmly than intended.

"You're confirming your camera found this and you only came to investigate it yourself?" Owen asks.

"Yes, that is true, plus knowing when or if the culprit will burst out of the lab to run."

They still exhibit bewilderment about the situation, but with softer eyes, they gradually understand what's really brewing.

"Hey, Andrea, I am sorry for accusing you. I will confess, the same picture with you and the oil was deemed quite suspicious," Owen solemnly says.

"I am just trying to assist, Owen. I am not keen on making some mess and then stand around until I'm caught."

"Yes, it's logical and again, I apologize. Diving deeper into this mystery, it may possibly be the work of our rogue spirit," he assumes.

"Most likely," I nod.

"Ben and I were just about to begin renovating the lab for the gathering, but I can see we have a more crucial ordeal on our hands. Did you unveil what the perpetrator looked like?"

"They were wearing a dull-gray winter uniform, and their hands and face were pure white," I answer.

"And you claimed they entered the lab?"

Before I could react, Owen rushes into the lab without warning, leaving me with a quizzical Ben to contend with. The expression sketched behind his large bifocals is more vague, as if utterly clueless by our scenario.

"This is so…incredible!" he suddenly blurts out, as if they're the only words he could find.

"Now, now, Ben, let's not lose our heads over an inferior misdemeanor. Hence, this oil is seldom compared to whatever worse we might encounter later on. All that the culprit is doing is scaring us by leaving remains as a sign," I clarify to him.

My reassuring talk seems to help loosen him up from his firm grip of shock. With a low sigh, he gazes down at me contently.

"Yeah, I suppose you are right about that. Nothing bad has happened to us yet, right?" he questions, repeating some of my words.

I respire softly for his mixture of dismay and doubt.

"Look, we should just…"

I am rudely interrupted by the cacophony of the lab's door reopening.

"Sorry but I could not find anyone in there," Owen reports. "I checked under every counter and even inside the cooler room for signs of the spirit."

Great, now the skepticism from his unsuccessful hunt is adding to Ben's own version of suspicion. Whenever I am not awarded admiration for my work or nobody believes me no matter how hard I mouth the truth in different phrases, it tends to irks me a lot. I know in dilemmas like that, I should just bypass it and move on, but my inner adolescent can be one annoyed Prima Donna sometimes.

"Maybe if they were a ghost, they wouldn't exactly prefer to stay in one place now, would they?" I ask sternly. "My cameras are not fibbing about this whatsoever, regardless of the evasive information. True, they did not detect the intruder inside the lab even though I saw them enter, but this dirty deed had indeed been caught under full perspective."

As a rather unpleasant silence hovers over us in the lingering seconds, I think deeper into the enigma of how the Eskimo keeps avoiding most of my cameras.

"The funny thing is though…as I was pursuing them from the lobby, my gadget never moaned as before."

"What do these moans sound like?" Owen questions.

"I believe they are resonated voices by the nearby spirits themselves. It's probably their way of communicating in some incomprehensible speech we can never translate. Normally, these groans have been agonizing or just desperate."

"Very…interesting! William must be alerted of this rumor immediately," he declares.

"Don't go crazy over some puddle, Owen. This is only a minor incident," Ben retorts, siding with me for once.

"It still won't hurt to inform our boss," Owen counters. "You are right that we shouldn't fret too much, however."

"Actually, it was Andrea who told me that moments ago so you should credit her the wisdom," Ben comments, winking at me.

His wink curves my lips automatically into a small grin and I hum.

"Can I have that, Ben?" Owen points at the cup.

After handing it to him, Owen exits the same door they both entered a little while ago. Ben resumes his peaceful gaze at me as I study both the oil and the lab's door. Then I notice the motion of his hand waving in my direction from my side vision.

"What happened there, Andrea?" he asks.

I realize he's mentioning about my injured hand, which is resting over my crossed arms.

"I'd rather not want to talk about it," I answer somberly.

"Aw, come on! I thought we were friends!" he whines in a whimsical pitch.

I chuckle at his remark and my smile grows a tad wider.

"Okay, I guess it won't hurt to say since we're alone, which I prefer because it's humiliating to even think about it. Lisa's door slammed on it yesterday causing a few cuts and Doctor Benson stitched them up after that," I disclose, looking away.

"Ooohhh, sorry about that," he sympathizes. "I do hope it gets better soon for you. It looks quite bad."

"Oh, it is. He did a superb job mending it as painlessly as he could. Oh, gosh…I just remembered…I was supposed to see him today so he can replace my gauzes. Well, either way you look at it, it was indeed a nasty accident and my hand is quite sore now."

I open and close my palm as another smaller itch develops under the linen. Deciding to just ignore it, I retract my hand to my arms' crossing and stare into space. A minute passing, our peace is bothered by the corridor's door opening once more, forcing Ben and I to check. William is the first to enter with Owen close behind, and he has a turn in holding the cup this time. Screeching to a halt before accidentally stepping into the puddle, he gasps in horror.

"How did this get in here?!" he asks sharply, apparently very upset.

Wow, and to think, when I showed him the first oil scene last night, he acted very tranquil about it all. Maybe it's because there wasn't any real oil aside from the smudge he found. Now, my impenetrable patience is running thin from this one more lack of ambition.

As William throws nervous glances at his speechless teamsters, the instant he sees me, more surprise dwells on his countenance, as if expecting me was the last thing he desired.

"Oh, Andrea? What's going on here? Did you do this?" he asks.

Okay, that does it. Someone not believing me is one strike, but the fact he, above everyone else, accused me of a crime I didn't execute right off the bat has ultimately crossed that delicate line.

"What!" I burst, dropping my jaw so far down it would have collided with the floor if this is some cartoon.

My outburst throws everyone for a loop, making them nearly stumble over in fright. Without any second thoughts, I storm out of the corridor through the southern entry.

"Wait, come back, Andrea! I didn't mean it like that!" William shouts, advancing a few steps as if about to go into pursuit.

* * *

Instead, William stops and stares at the stationary door as new guilt fills in steadily like fine sand. He slowly turns to Owen and Ben, who both still seem petrified from that dramatic episode.

"What…ahem…what did she find out?" he softly asks.

"Uh…" Owen starts hesitantly. "She admitted her cameras have uncovered the criminal responsible for this spill. However, she did not see them inside the lab after they entered, and neither did I as I checked. As strange as it sounds, I think she's expressing the truth."

"Oh, my…" William mumbles.

"Well, I better proceed with our previous plan before this happened and start setting up the lab for the ritual. She never replied if she found any items I asked for but my guess is not at the moment. With this new event in toll, it's clear we need to summon our Eskimo friend ASAP so we can put an end to this," Owen states.

Ben heaves a sigh and nods in Owen's direction in acceptance. Owen enters without looking back, leaving the remaining men to the resting gunk.

"How is it we are finding oil all of a sudden, William?" Ben asks dubiously.

"I…honestly don't have an acceptable answer to that. My…father claimed…he never found any during his excavation," he stammers.

"I better recite Andrea's advice again and suggest we should not lose our heads over this quagmire and think too much about it since we are participating in the ghost's game," Ben recommends.

"Yes, you are correct, or Andrea is actually. We need to keep ourselves sane and just play it wisely," William agrees and sighs. "I owe her a heartfelt apology for my unnecessary allegation. I really did not mean what I said."

"Sounds to me we all should heed her warnings from now on, as long as her cameras are capturing everything. This is some serious business," Ben insists.

Lost for words, William couldn't comply to that statement with another concurrence.

"Okey dokey, since there seems to be nothing else going on here, I need to assist Owen with the lab arrangements. He apparently required an extra hand with those movable counters and other equipment. You will have to pardon these four-eyes," Ben giggles at his final comment and adjusts his glasses again before going inside.

Being the only one left in the corridor now, William decides there's no other choice but to search for Andrea.

"Andrea, I am truly sorry. I only hope you can forgive me for my slip-up," he mutters as he darts through the southern door.


	25. Chapter 24

Hastily emerging one of the fish from the bathtub, I pat it dry with a paper towel then yank off a larger portion to wrap it up like a Christmas present. All set, I evacuate my room with the new package tucked in my arms. After that mad departure from the second oil scene, I decided to just roll along with displaying a fish to Watson as an excuse to not be in my bedroom. It still requires plenty of defrosting, however, thus nowhere near ready. I also drained some of the tub and topped it back up with new water, because it was beginning to smell a tad fishy.

My outburst was so uncalled for, leaving me ashamed of my actions that I'd rather not want to run into William anytime soon. He simply chose a false set of words in the disordered situation regarding the oil and never meant to spout his allegation to me. Seriously, when my inner youth arises from her dormant state, I can transform into one immature brat for my age, which I truly loathe. As I sped out of the oil scene, I had to confirm with my gadget if he will indeed come for me after consulting with Ben, and that's mainly why I am fleeing. What surprises me, however, is that no one bothered to clean up the mess after everyone departed, including the Eskimo spirit.

I stampede north through the divided hallways like a feral rhino, and before reaching the final door to the main lobby, it flies open. Both my feet and my heart stop together, spurring a slight dizziness from the abrupt shift in energy. Thankfully, it is only Charles, likely heading to his room.

"Doctor Benson! You caught me right as I was about pass through that door! Good thing we didn't run into each other, huh?" I chirp in a happy anxiety.

"What's the rush?" he asks.

"Oh, um, I wanted to show this to Watson. It is some neat discovery I unveiled while hiking outdoors a little while ago, and deduced it will do for tonight's meal."

I pull off a corner of paper towel to reveal the fish's head.

"A fish?" he mumbles.

"Yep! There's more of them thawing in my bathtub. I couldn't hold back the eagerness before they were ready to let Watson see at least one of them," I explain as I tuck the flap back in.

"Well, talk about a flawless arrangement, because I was wondering when you were going to see me to have your wounds cleaned and redressed. Mind setting your excitement aside for a bit and come with me?"

"Umm…" I moan reluctantly.

I get struck with the unsettling predicament that we might bump into William along the way, yet if we will be heading in the same direction Charles came from, we could miss him. Since the doctor demands to replace my bandages now, I have no other excuse.

"Okay, fine," I acknowledge calmly.

He spins towards the door and I trail behind him closely through the lengthy foyer. It's like I am a young and timid lass who always stays by her mother while hugging her stuffed animal tightly for protection, since I am doing the same with this dead fish. As we enter the oil scene, although slightly out of breath by paranoia, I let out a healthy gasp. The oil is all gone, not even a smudge left this time. Charles looks at me bewildered before entering the office.

"Something wrong?" he questions.

"Nope! Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a stray thought surprised me, that's all," I fib.

At least I don't have to warn him to watch his step and then clarify what happened. That's one positive note I will give the fake Eskimo kudos for.

Inside, I place the fish down by the door and then he instructs me to relax on the recliner while he gets the supplies from the operations room. Upon his return and sitting to my right, he immediately glares at the hand.

"Strange, I don't recall putting these on," he refers to the clips while observing my hand in his light grip.

"I had constant problems with the linen loosening away from its bundle, so on the final straw, I came here by myself for these," I resolve.

The suspicion embedded on his elderly complexion melts away to compassion, leaving me delighted in that foolproof answer.

As he unrolls the cloth from my hand, I sense another twitch of concern regarding the gauze. Since William changed out the original straps last night, Charles may speculate why they are not totally soaked in the old blood. As anticipated, after the bandage's second end falls off, the straps are not all stained. Luckily, he doesn't seem to notice them as he carefully tears them off my hand.

Moments later, he completes bundling up my wounds with the same linen bandage and hooks on the clips with my small assistance of holding the cloth in place.

"That's it, Andrea. You are now free to go show Watson your fish," he smirks warmly as he gently pats my hand.

"Thanks, Doc!"

I am first to rise to my feet with him shortly after gathering up the bits of garbage and remaining provisions. After briefly checking my device to ensure it is safe enough to step out without running into anyone else, I curiously peek over at Charles in the operations room before scooting out with my package.

I arrive at the dining room with no more time wasted, but what I am greeted with next plummets my heart to my stomach. Watson is currently inside the bar, using a clean rag to wipe the shelves and around the bottles at ease. He is not the most of my worries, however. There is also Frank sitting in a stool closest to the bar's entrance. For a split second of flashback, I thought it's the same one he chose beside me last night, but I just as swiftly remember sitting directly in front of that quaint mirror, which is two stools over. As my body quivers uneasily for Frank's unexpected presence, I know I shouldn't be too alarmed because he is ignorant of the recent oil episode. Yet, there is something else temporarily missing that startles me.

"Hello, Andrea. How is it going?" Watson greets.

My face languishes somewhat further with hindrance as Frank turns in my direction.

"Everything's fine," I answer softly.

"Are you sure, Blu? You don't sound like everything's fine," Frank mentions.

"Hmm, oh, nothing's wrong, really," I claim on a bright pitch. "I am moderately bummed of an insignificant problem that's more of my concern."

He bestows another solemn glare of disbelief as before. Although hesitant out of shyness, I ignore the look while approaching them with an unchanged expression.

"So, Watson, I have something to show you."

As he grows more intrigued by the second, I repeat the process of uncovering the fish's head.

"Oh, that's a perch!" he utters enthusiastically. "Where did you find it?"

"I was outside to get some fresh air and enjoy Greenland's environment today. During my trip, I found this frozen lake with a gaping hole that had these frozen fish nearby. I grabbed them because I reckoned they've been preserved well by the frigid temperature to eat tonight," I clarify.

"You have more than that?"

"Yes, the others are defrosting in my bathtub, filled with cold water."

"Let's take a look at this one, shall we?"

After hiding the rag under the bar out of sight, he exits the small door, which surprisingly doesn't open upwards like I predicted. Rather, it electronically slides away, identical to the regular doors about the station, yet its noise is much softer.

Entering the kitchen together, I set the fish on one of the cutting boards without requiring Watson's directions and begin unwrapping it from the rest of its bundle. Then I shove it on another board for Watson to inspect straightaway while disposing the used paper towels in a large metal can. He flips it on its sides frequently and pokes it at certain places a few times. He even bends down to smell it from head to tail.

"Hmm, it seems this one has softened a bit and doesn't reek too badly," he reports. "How long have you been warming them?"

"I think…a half-hour or so," I answer.

"How about this? While your method is working, I have a faster solution."

"I expected as much but how?"

"You see that oven over there?" he points at an appliance on one of the lower shelves that looks more like a regular microwave. "It's specially designed to defrost foods in two shakes of a lamb's tail and can still make them fresh for cooking, as if they were never frozen. It makes me praise the inventor who built them."

"Amazing…"

"I am sure no one will miss this fish if I give it to Snowflake. With a little preparation, he will love it to bits."

"I was actually thinking of him as well while grabbing them," I mention.

"Do you want to offer a helping hand when you return? I know you will be challenged with that bandaged hand of yours there."

I gulp with surprise, now slapping myself psychologically for the idiocy of not hiding it briefly after I had my hands free.

"Don't worry, Andrea, I won't ask. I've faced similar injuries every time I prepare and cook. The kitchen can be one living hell if a cook doesn't pay close attention to its many risks," he reassures, smiling.

"Oh…" I murmur softly in relief. "I guess, at this point, I should not be too alarmed anymore since most everyone knows by now."

"Precisely. You should not be too disappointed of some petty cuts impeding your daily performance."

I sigh contently for his words of encouragement and nod.

"Well, now you've stoked me to figure out what sides will coincide with your fish. Let's see…" he finishes short as he darts into the refrigeration room.

Before pursuing him inside, I glance over my shoulder at the dining room as my intuition nibbles away at my sense of disturbance.

"What do you think will go well?" he asks me as he scans through the rations on the shelves and inside the mini-fridges.

"Maybe…something else that's seafood?" I assume.

"Hmm, yeah, and pasta sounds delectable, too. I like your combination," he comments.

As he scuttles through boxes containing separate, compact packages of shrimp with occasional hums, my ears detect multiple voices outside the kitchen. My concern gradually grows as I recognize them, listening more attentively to everything they are discussing. Then Watson swiftly turns my way and almost collides into me.

"Oh, sorry about that, Andrea! I was going to check what's behind you, if you don't mind," he says.

"Don't sweat it, Watson. I can go snatch the other fish and we can have fun with them."

"After we get them all thawed out, how about I show you the technique for skinning and filleting them? Can you do that?"

"Sure, I won't mind helping out with that. Alright, I'll be right back."

Exiting the pantry room, I catch a glimpse of the guests inside the dining room during my swift flight and brake out of sight to cringe. Remaining stationary on the spot with feet firmly rooted to the floor, I ponder for a second about using Watson's bedroom as a clean getaway but neglect the idea. He probably will not appreciate me continuously trekking through his room as an alternate route to other parts of 'Mary'. Both sides of my conscious recommend what I can do to tackle the situation on separate occasions, and in the end, I respire in defeat to just go ahead and face the music. I sneak to the kitchen's entrance, still out of sight of the guests, and lean my side against the wall. Carefully stretching my head out past the door frame's open space like a turtle, I grit my teeth at the next image.

Frank is now accompanied by William at the bar, with William's back facing me. The cup filled with oil I obtained earlier is resting on the counter near them. From the looks of it although limited by my distance, the cup is wearing away by the gunk, like it's actually eating away at the paper. The second I detected those voices while inside the refrigeration room clearly indicated that William came here ultimately to converse important business with Frank, after he likely tried searching for me to no avail and eventually gave up. I knew all along these two were going to end up here once I noticed Frank, like it became more than coincidental that I will have to stop running away from my problems sooner or later.

I watch them silently as they continue to talk, not at all amused with making a single peep to inform them I am here. Then Frank raises his stern gaze at me, like I am being disgraced for an unfavorable misdemeanor. My body behind the wall shivers as my mind depicts the slower motion of William rotating towards me. I flinch again the second our somber eyes meet, then he rises from his bar stool.

"Andrea, I am gravely sorry for the way I accused you like that. Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

It's apparent in his tone, same for my overview of our dilemma, that he's just as remorseful. Talk about such negative vibes hovering over us, like a dark cloud that won't exactly spit out rain but rather prolongs its dismal emotions throughout the day.

"No, I shouldn't have overreacted the way I did, hence I should be the one to apologize for taking the bulk of my anger on you like that, William. I just got so flustered with Owen and Ben's lack of ambition for my latest oil discovery, it was only a matter of time," I confess, looking away in shame.

"Here, take my seat. I wish to consult with you further on the issue."

I retreat my head from the door frame and stop when an idea appears under the spotlight.

"Can we host our meeting elsewhere that's more private, please? I honestly feel uncomfortable doing it here," I ask.

"That won't be a problem. How does your bedroom sound?"

Before I could respond with another question, the door animates at lightning speed and shuts an inch in front of my nose.

"Ahhh!" I scream, involuntarily backing away a few steps.

My God, what is it with me and these darn doors?! Shoot, if I hadn't moved my head sooner, the door would have smashed my face in, which likely would've resulted in death or a concussion. I become totally petrified in place like a lifeless mannequin, with my eyes fixated to the static door and not blinking. I cannot believe I nearly suffered the same fate twice, especially if this one moved much faster.

With everyone aware of my shriek, Watson bursts out of the pantry room to come to my comfort first.

"What happened, Andrea?" he asks troubled.

My eyes, still alert despite the rest of my body unresponsive, notice a slight movement of the door but it doesn't seem to be its own regular maneuver.

"Here, let me switch it to manual," I hear Frank's voice from the other side.

Seconds following, the door shifts again but this time all the way open by the strength of William's pull. Then he approaches me with deathly apprehension mixed into his suave countenance.

"Andrea, are you okay?" he asks, cupping both hands to my cheeks.

Still paralyzed, I cannot even mutter an inferior stutter in response.

"This is beyond incredible. How could this affect you again?" he bursts with even more concern.

He stares straight into my eyes, which at least helps mine to release from the stupor and flicker. I blink slowly while returning the gaze for a few seconds, before closing my eyelids to shield myself from the attention.

"Pardon, but what's going on?" Watson wonders, confused.

"The door nearly hit her on the face in its fury," Frank replies.

"What?"

"I…I cannot do this anymore. I want to go home," I stammer, clueless of what I'm really saying.

"Andrea…" William mutters dumbfounded. "Let's escort you back to your room and then we can carry on with our discussion if you wish without any further intrusions."

William removes his palms from my face and sidesteps away from my focused eyesight. I finally snap out of my immobilization as I feel nudging against my back and strut forth without delay. Hesitating in front of the door while feeling utter distrust for it even though it's now set to manual, I take in deep breaths to regain a little courage. I wait mindlessly for the best moment before dashing through, nearly tripping over my own feet. As I award myself for overcoming such a dangerous feat in my mind, I cease in my tracks as if waiting for another order to move again. Staring at Frank with an innocent expression, I shortly notice William's hand land on my shoulder as he guides me out.

* * *

Frank does not follow them immediately as he previously intended. Now that he actually witnessed the very barbaric circumstance before his very eyes, all he can do is express suspicion as he leers at the broken door. Watson stumbles out of the kitchen and stops a foot in front of its frame.

"Will she be alright?" he asks.

"I think so," Frank answers with uncertainty. "It's so flabbergasting what this sucker tried to do. Sigh, let me grab my tools again and I'll figure out what's wrong."

"A splendid idea. The last thing I want is to have one of my hands injured, otherwise I won't be able to make any meals for you people," Watson seriously states before returning to the refrigeration room.

As Frank departs the dining room as well without another word, he hopes to finish this new project in time so he can catch up with the other two. There is something under his own terms he wishes to ask her, anyway.


	26. Chapter 25

Talk about being confined in a sticky situation that has left me cornered like an animal with no further confidence. After that episode of the kitchen's door in a fruitless effort to maim my face, I am now being led by the guidance of William's protection as we amble to my bedroom. When I suggested to go there for our convention, I was not expecting to go petrified with fear.

Every single door in this station will now be considered a burden in which I cannot trust anymore. I have developed such a strong phobia due to the kitchen's defective door that I become very antsy with each one we are currently entering. Before getting too close, I screech in my tracks, but William's nudges persuade me there is really nothing to worry about. We are also slim enough to fit through the doors together, which aids me to feel somewhat less shaken. I sincerely wish this fear will gradually fizzle out and I can pretend it never commenced. If I conquered the one after nearly being sucked out of the helicopter, I can surely tackle this down to the ground in victory.

Entering my room, William assists my stupefied body to the bed and we sit down. In the pursuing minutes, neither of us peep a thing. I remain stiff as the immobile statue I morphed into, gawking at the far wall above my case with a blank expression while feeling William's effort to soothe me. From my corner vision, I notice his fixed stare that defines a more profound regret than back in the dining room after giving me his condolences. Finally finding the muscle to twist my neck, our eyes eventually lock into place dead-on.

That soul behind the windows of his subtle, gray eyes is truly asserting his feelings for my well-being. I look away in shame before admiring more of it, admitting I have been such a wreck in the recent hours when I shouted at him for no logical explanation. If anything, I prefer to run and hide somewhere where I am granted utter solitude so I can calm down and start over, yet William will not recommend me doing it alone without him, which I really don't mind. One thing I will give thanks to these disasters affecting me is how they've brought us closer in only the couple days we first met. Since I don't exactly picture him as the boss for our expedition, he has evolved into more than just the brotherly figure in my perspective.

He resumes the hypnotic gaze for another crawling minute before disturbing its peace with a long exhale.

"Andrea, I am dreadfully sorry for the shocking experience you confronted twice. When you said you wanted to go home, that struck me quite hard. As much as you desire that wish, I am starting to need you more than ever. Can you please come back in higher spirits, for me?" he begs.

As regret drills deeper into my conscious in addition to his plea, I bury my face with my palms and almost break down into tears. Regardless of how these episodes went, I don't want to let him down, knowing I came here ultimately for his kind heart and to help open the final passage for our real Eskimo friend to enter through. Then the negative question develops, whether it was honestly wise enough for me to fly on extreme lengths in order to sell my equipment. Reflecting back on his request though, I have uncovered my true objective again with acceptance.

"Thanks for comforting me," I calmly note, looking back at him. "I just…don't know what to fathom anymore, now with my heightened phobia of these doors and whatever other bad luck will involve me. Even though a part of me believes your excursion is the main cause, I am still committed all the way to help."

"I swear on my parents' graves I never anticipated these misfortunes for you. Due to that, I have grown even more concerned for the safety of my entire team but mainly for you."

Whoa, both of his parents are dead? Now that is a shocker, although I already knew his mother was gone hence his father's desire to name this place after her. It must be difficult to lose both family members who are closest, which can explain why he's been keeping a watchful eye on me ever since I nearly died from the first near-tragedy. If anyone else were in my shoes, he'd probably pour his heart out for them for protection, although less so if they were another man. With Lisa, however, I can easily imagine him cuddling over her in a similar fashion as he did with me and not make it feel so awkward.

"Sigh, there is no reason to beat yourself over any of this, William. You were never at fault and I don't want you to keep blaming yourself," I insist, shaking my head. "I'm more content I managed to escape that fiasco without having my face sliced clean off. I also know I can't go home anyway because we have no reliable transportation at the moment, so I'll just have to grin and bear it with a stronger attitude."

Thanks to our kindling conversation, I have gradually felt better with my bravery definitely rejuvenating. No longer paralyzed in fright, I allow weak movements and normal breathing again.

"Are you willing to move on from this and continue to prove your asset to the team?" he broadly asks. "I can only hope henceforth there will be no more black cats appearing before you."

"Y-yes, sir," I answer timidly, now interpreting him as a boss. "I just need to be even more cautious and battle against my inner demons when near doors. Oh, that just reminded me of something. Wasn't Frank supposed to be here, too?"

"Hmm, knowing my best friend, he's gotten to work on that door shortly after you and I departed. Why do you ask?" he questions, leering.

"Um, no reason. I just reckoned he'd be interested in participating on our meeting, which I wouldn't care for. Plus, I think there's something I can't quite put my finger on right now."

Molding my face into perplexity about what Frank desired yesterday, our peace lingers around us. I break away from my train of thought after a minute of no success and respire at the minor disappointment.

"Anyway, I believe you have something to tell me now that we're in my room. Is it about today's oil discovery…or my behavior?" I ask.

William doesn't reply straightaway and instead prolongs the familiar, unpleasant glare like the first time I received it at the tavern. Then, after giving me a soft caress on my shoulder, he levitates to his feet and stops at the center of the room, rotating towards me. Confused, I mimic his movement and stand directly in front of him.

"Well, of course you recognize what this seminar is about," he begins on a stern tone. "You are well aware I never meant to allege you on spilling that oil outside the lab. In fact, flashing back to last night's scenario, I should have expressed less ignorance if I knew you were the first witness again, and that's probably what further fused your anger to the point of that…explosion."

"To strike the nail on the head, I still accept any pieces of news we may unveil during our stay. I'm optimistic that they will all be proven helpful, no matter how worthless they may seem, and heed every word of it. I am not interested in replicating the same mistake Father made when he refused to believe these haunting events until it was almost too late to react."

Another word barely parts in the continuation of his speech when he is interrupted by the hissing of my door. We simultaneously look in its direction.

"Hey, guys. Sorry if I busted in the middle of your conversation if that's where you are," Frank apologizes.

"It's perfectly fine," I kindly reassure him.

"I would have tagged along if I didn't have an instantaneous job to tend to," he mentions.

"What did you find?" William asks him, apparently referring to the door.

"This."

Frank pulls out a piece of burnt wiring from behind his back. Squinting to get a better view of it from across the room, my mind instantly replays flicks of the kitchen door sliding in front of my nose and Lisa's catching my hand off-guard. Now it leaves me more skeptical of whether the first door honestly did function properly as Frank concluded it to be, as both seemed to repeat the same movement.

"This wire maneuvers the door to only shut, and there's another like it for opening. My diagnosis is it finally shorted out after some time, which fortunately did not spark up any fires but it did result in the way that door closed at such an insane speed," he continues.

"You already fixed the whole thing?" I ask, surprised.

"Mm-hmm! Didn't take long to install a brand new wire perfect for its replacement and test it for flawless performance."

"Whoa, I figured it would take longer for a project like that to accomplish, but you finished it in less than twenty minutes. Were you trying to break a record or something?" I land my fists to my hips.

"I've broken enough records and besides, I wasn't even close to my best time for this particular job."

"Shoot, man…" I mumble in amazement. "William wasn't kidding then."

"About what? That Frank is an exceptional mechanic?"

"Yep."

"Shows how much you know me then, Blu," Frank brags with a smug expression. "For the years I majored in that field, I always spared time to practice."

"I suppose so," I partially agree, although more unsure. "Hey, I'm at least glad there was actually something wrong with that door. When you the claimed the other one was fine, I was startled."

I stare down at my injured hand, now wrapped over my other palm in one fist. Despite my optimism for its recovery, I still abhor the atrocity and my slight inability to use it efficiently.

"Anyway, I didn't mean to barge in abruptly while you two were conversing but I still wanted to hear this for myself. Also, Blu, there's something to ask you but with your current problem being more important, it can wait," Frank concludes.

Oh, now I remember what he's talking about! My eyes automatically zip to the steel case, and swiftly, I am encouraged to go ahead and show him my cameras. Then I recede on the idea, since William is not quite finished. As much as he is a very patient man, he probably won't tolerate anymore disrespectful intrusions driving us further away from our main subject. Instead, I drive my attention back to him without delay, noticing Frank not too far behind him with his arms behind his back again. I slowly present more enthusiasm for what else needs to be spoken, although I am a tad nervous for this upcoming round.

"After you left the scene, Owen informed me your cameras spotted the perpetrator disposing the oil in the middle of the corridor before dashing into the lab, where you ended up missing them. What did they look like?" William asks, picking up from where he left off.

"Um…well…" I stutter with hesitation.

Although a part of me is still persistent in keeping the fake Eskimo's identity a secret, I have no choice now but to clear the air for good. My stream of lies since yesterday will continue to haunt me even after this is all over, as well as my harsh allegation against Frank for posing me as a liar.

"They had a gray outfit with a crimson red lined on the edges of their clothing and pockets. Remembering your description of the Eskimo's uniform, I realized those colors have been switched. Not sure if it was deliberate. Then their complexion was all blinding white as snow, absolutely devoid of any skin textures and they didn't have a nose and mouth. Just a pair of pits where their eyes would be, darker than your suit."

"Very intriguing," he comments with enthusiasm, then glances over at Frank.

"Sounds to me our wily spirit has been on a tireless effort to create all these inexplicable events just to scare us. Do you think the immortal is just refusing our proposal to help?" Frank asks, suspicious.

William sharply sighs in frustration, rotating back at me with an even stricter glare.

"We mustn't give up," he clearly states, throwing more looks at me than Frank. "Since Mother and Father's passing, I felt an utmost responsibility to undo Father's wrongdoing and accomplish this mission without failure. No matter the obstacles the phantom will dare dish out at us, we must prevail against the most impenetrable of barriers without a single thought of surrender."

I nibble nervously on my lip, fully siding with him on fulfilling this duty. However that Eskimo's warning to me from my nightmare was quite fierce, my desire remains firm. Who wouldn't feel sympathetic for an apparition who's been trapped in limbo for all these years and allowed his anger to boil over us people in contempt?

"Andrea, I just need to confirm on a final note you will set aside your recent traumas and continue to achieve your job as you were assigned to. I am asking…no, begging for your improved synergy at this point. You have my support for helping you out, so can you hold your part of the bargain? You do not have to do so for me but it's fine if you're dedicated to for our native."

"Yes, William, you know my commitment was stamped on paper and the amount of energy I've extracted into this investigation. I will continue to report any findings my cameras will uncover regardless of other dilemmas. I apologize for being such an overactive teenager today and I will keep on a positive stand no matter the team's lack of belief or uplifting criticism in the future. Unfortunately, I will confess I've had trouble accepting moments like that in the past," I boldly declare.

"You shouldn't be too disappointed of the opinions that aren't in your favor, Blu," Frank suggests. "Whether they are right or wrong, you must take them into consideration and sort out things in the proper manner."

I groan feebly, feeling a bit down for having both of them chastising me, but nonetheless, I am delighted they will continue to aid me.

"I am very favorable in your diligence, Andrea. Let's keep attacking this as a team and we'll work out any problems together. You can do that, can't you, please?" William concludes on a more playful note.

"Sure thing, but only because you said 'please'," I giggle.

Hearing the humor in my voice, his lips unfurl into that warm, familiar smirk I've grown accustomed to; Frank seems to imitate an identical reaction for my loyalty.

"I must say, I am glad the ordeal's been settled," I mention.

Then another contagious itch develops inside my bandages rapidly to another intense sting.

"Ah, gosh darn it," I murmur through gritted teeth, desperately sliding my fingers through the shortest route to the itch.

After it becomes mostly relieved, which leaves just the wounds' soreness again, I give my guests another timid grin and a giggle.


	27. Chapter 26

"So…" I speak again, after what deems like a delaying minute of no one else piping up.

I think, from the way they've been idolizing me with their almost devilish charms, I suddenly consider myself very attractive. I may not be the only female on board currently, but they are staring as if it's been forever since they've fallen eyes on another woman. I ponder that they actually know my infatuation for them both and are only giving it back.

"I remembered the second reason you're here, Frank. You want to see my equipment."

"Mmm, bring 'em on, Blu. I can't wait," he says with a fervor like a courageous, young boy.

"Uh, is it okay if I…?" I ask William.

"Our more serious bulk of the meeting has drawn to a close so have at it. In fact, I was going to remind you because…eh, well…" he peeks over at his friend. "He can get fussy like a cranky toddler sometimes," he shares me his sly smirk.

"Okay, Bill, why don't you tell that to the rest of the world while you're at it?" Frank retorts with sarcasm.

That iceberg of misery, which stayed afloat since before coming to my bedroom, finally chips away by the stream of laughter harmonizing from all of us in a euphony. If this was a song, I'd be the only lead singer with two supports.

"Don't you worry about a thing, buddy. Your secret is safe with me," I wink at Frank girlishly.

Sidestepping around William, I walk to the table and pull the steel case closer to me. Before flipping up its latches, however, the thought of the T-Laser shines in the spotlight. Now leaning more towards the change of plans, I back a step away from the case and sneer weakly at the two men. I pull out the minuscule sucker from its protective pouch and return the pouch into my pocket.

"Is that a flash drive?" Frank asks inquisitively, pointing at it.

"Originally, yes," I reply. "It was converted to give it a brand new function than just some portable hard drive. This baby was how I revived you during our crisis. It is a laser pointer and a taser gun merged into one package, thus I named it the T-Laser because it rhymed. I later discovered, however, that it does not work precisely like a regular taser but I kept the name regardless."

"Are the two buttons for each ability then?"

"Yep. First is for the laser pointer, self-explanatory. You've probably seen those laser toys kids would carry around in school even though they are dangerous."

Holding down on the button, I aim the pointer at the floor and allow the compact dot to dance frantically around our feet.

"Seen them? I owned one myself," Frank notes while observing my little show. "I brought it countless times until it was confiscated by a teacher and it never returned. Worse off, a know-it-all who Bill and I can recall well was the one who tattled on me. You can bet how disappointed I was."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. Was it part of, how should I put it, your jester kit?"

"Mm-hmm. The way I would trick our fellow students was I would aim it below their belts, causing the more gullible ones to really take their pants off in front of everyone. Don't worry, the girls were not easily as fooled thus never humiliated themselves to that level. Since Bill always had the front-row seat to witness my antics, we always guffawed at their mistakes."

He chortles away softly as he smiles, likely reminiscing the old and familiar memories in a nutshell.

"Luckily, I had other ways to amuse my audience so I wasn't totally out of business after my laser pointer was taken," he resumes.

"Oh, Frank, remember that one kid who dropped his pants at the very moment the principal decided to stroll by?" William asks.

"Oh, gosh, yes! That was perfect!"

On cue, they roar into even more laughter, while this time I gawk with a hanging jaw in awed silence.

"That's mean!" I argue whimsically.

"Well, maybe if he didn't stand around long enough like a dummy with his pants touching the floor before being forcibly escorted by the principal…" Frank responded innocently, shrugging.

"Still, that was evil, but on the other hand, you're making me wish I was there to consume my portion of chuckles," I mention. "So, here is what the second button is for…"

As previously exhibited, the rabbit ears extend out from my gadget under my command and electrical energy immediately start building at the tips.

"Um," I hum, wondering where to aim it well out of people's ways for the attack.

I turn towards the wall and target beside the wardrobe. After waiting a few more seconds for the charge to max out, I press the same button again. The electricity extrudes from the tips as a pair of crooked lightning bolts to the front of the T-Laser, combining into one beam and shooting forth with a choir of sharp crackles. Upon contact, a nearby light fixture in the wall flickers brightly and goes out with an ear-piercing stroke.

"Oh, whoops," I mumble loudly, cupping a hand over my mouth in shock.

"Wow! Talk about powerful stuff!" Frank comments in amazement.

"I did not mean to kill my light," I confess with regret.

"Hey, it's fine. At least you've given me a good excuse to attempt breaking another one of my records," he expels a hearty chuckle, not annoyed by my carelessness.

Noticing the second charge of energy brimming to near full, I focus back on the remainder of my presentation.

"That was not how I woke you from your slumber. I used a much less fatal technique because I wasn't absolute how potent the voltage truly was. I didn't want to put you into a coma and then be committed of a possible murder before we perished in the inevitable crash," I calmly disclose, moving on from my recent fault. "Here's what happens when I press the first button this time."

Instead of another couple of bolts merging together, two marble-sized sparks discharge from the antennas at identical agility. Since the wall lamp has already burnt out, nothing else occurs as they absorb into the wall.

"Just a pair of these was all you needed, hence those stings you described yesterday," I conclude on that note.

"Incredible," he murmurs.

Using the same combination to deactivate the T-Laser, the rabbit ears release all their stimulated atoms into the air before folding back inside. Then I freely hand it to him.

Giggling away merrily in my mind while watching, he studies every centimeter of it with the enthrallment of a child. He even tries out the laser pointer at another wall away from us. My smile disappears though when he looks my way with a devious sneer and directs the pointer just below the lining of my shirt that covers half of my jeans' fly.

"Frank," I growl sternly, crossing my arms.

"Heh, sorry about that," he coolly apologizes as he retreats the T-Laser. "It's been a long time."

"I know," I say just as calmly.

"Why did you discontinue this electronic? Were you worried people might hurt themselves with it?" he asks.

"For the most part, yeah. I also didn't receive the burning morale as I had hoped for it. I simply designed it for the same ambition as my cameras, to provide a better defense in people's homes…or at least an extra boost of electricity in case they ever lose power," I clarify, scoffing in disbelief. "After I stored it away, I thought of splitting it into two devices for its individual capabilities, but by then I was already working on my next invention.

"If you ask me, I think this baby would have coincided well with your cameras since you aimed for the same intention. True, this can be quite lethal as you demonstrated, but when handled professionally, it can be of exceptional assistance."

I would agree, as I honestly should have held onto it longer until my cameras were complete. Selling them into a single parcel might have actually worked and granted householders with an even more enhanced security.

"That's why you mentioned your cameras were your latest invention," William chimes in. "Is this your only other creation or are there more?"

"There's nothing other than just these two," I answer, pointing at both the T-Laser and the steel case alternatively.

Frank eventually hands the T-Laser back after frolicking with it a little more, and his level of excitement for new things returns on his face.

Digging the gadget back in its pouch before finding its way into my pocket, I resume my previous attention on the case. As innumerable times before, I pull out all the cushions but set one of them aside from the others as it no longer contains any cameras. Arranging the gun, my reflexes nearly sticks a camera inside the holster when another good idea shoves into place. Maybe it will be better to let Frank try this for himself, since he never gained the same opportunity as William did. I approach Frank with the items resting in both palms. As expected, he seems somewhat intimidated by the weapon.

"Here, take these," I advise. "I want to see how quickly you'll master the basics. Oh, and the gun wasn't designed for bullets, just for my cameras."

He removes them from my open grips with relief, cautious to not accidentally lose the penny camera to the vast floor below. Like with the T-Laser, he inspects each object with identical giddiness.

"This camera is so itty-bitty," he comments. "How were you able to build them so fine?"

"Not too difficult with these bony fingers. Actually, once the first was done, the rest were easy as pie," I reply.

"So, how does putting it inside the pistol work exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know," I chant into singsong, rolling my eyes.

Hearing the challenge in my voice, he nods in acceptance with a smirk and soon drops the camera inside the gun easily.

"If they're inserted incorrectly with their eyes facing outward, the gun has a mechanism for rotating them right. I do want to note I never really created the weapon. I bought it at my conventions and put it to use with the rest of my invention. The maker was also content with my plan, since I ended up signing a contract to pay part of my sales to him just to be generous and he was interested in purchasing my cameras once I was finished. I personally would've typed out a contract anyway if he didn't soon enough," I thoroughly clarify. "So, now that you've prevailed this far, perhaps you know what to do next."

With another hum of approval for the next step, he focuses on the wall behind him and pulls the trigger. That sound I've become accustomed to emits from the gun as the camera soars at bullet-like speed, vanishing right as it lands its target.

"Where did it go?" he asks bewildered, although a bit of his voice suggests me revealing the secret.

Scooting past him without hesitation, I spend a few seconds scanning the wall by both sight and touch, until my eyes catch it first this time by the tiny reflection of light from the camera's eye. Pinching it with several fingers, I pry it off the wall like a sticker. I look back at Frank curiously who seems even more stupefied, probably by how I found it so fast.

"You already witnessed its unique ability to go incognito when stamping onto solid surfaces so I won't dig into further elaboration. The part that never changes is the eye," I point at the pinhead-sized glass in the center with my pinky finger.

"And you're not troubled if someone might find it as readily as you did?" he asks.

"Believe me, at the night of my final testing, it took me longer to expose the camera, but then it was hiding in near total darkness and I had to rely on my device. So, unless people have an eternity of patience, it will be more trouble than it's worth to search for it, honestly. I granted them camouflage because I realized how camera-shy some people can be, and I want them to perform their duties regularly without the discomfort of being watched. Also, criminals will never suspect anything when they're stalking inside homes either. When the clever losers become smarter, security will need to evolve at greater levels to constantly stay one step ahead."

"In that case, I'll let you in on another secret I'm positive you can keep," he grins.

"Um, okay," I mumble in confusion.

"I installed a special protection for our bedroom when we're not around."

I immediately remember my experience with the miniature tank and shudder.

"What was that, Blu?" he questions, eyes narrowing.

"It was nothing," I answer tranquilly. "Please, continue."

"Well, if someone other than us is present, my defense will activate on alarm, and it's not very merciful when dealing with the perpetrator. It must squish the bug, so to speak," he reveals.

Truly, that tank tried vigorously to squash me good and flat, yet my getaway was one fortuitous piece of news out of that episode. This will be one story I never dare to unveil even if they have to torture me for it. They will definitely be appalled if they knew it was me who invaded their room yesterday, which might earn me a harsh pair of scolds.

"I can imagine the 'squishing' part. What is it, may I ask?"

"Best to not tell, same logic that you haven't mentioned your working cameras' locations to anyone here for their concern, hence the disguise," he says.

"Fair enough."

"I will admit though, not sure how but someone entered our bedroom yesterday and managed to escape somehow. My guard was choking in the far corner and it took me a couple hours to repair it. Plus, there was black soot all over the enclosure but we haven't bothered cleaning them yet. Through determination to ensure they can't escape again, I've added in a few upgrades while fixing it."

I flinch nervously, praying to high heaven I won't have to return room for any other task to spare my fragile life.

"Goodness, Frank, isn't that brimming it over the top? I can comply if you have other expensive equipment otherwise left unattended during your absence during the day, but you might kill an innocent person who accidentally stumbles in and doesn't want any hindrance," I spout, slightly scared.

"In the long run, you are quite right, except for the sake of that evildoer. Although, none of our valuables were stolen and I was impressed of how they fled unscathed. I always accept a good challenge."

"I suppose your defense would suffice well in other parts of the station or even in our other bedrooms. Still, I think it's too much."

"Did you find whoever busted in our room, by any chance?"

"My system wasn't up then and I am not some forensics scientist or something," I grumble.

"I was only joking. Lighten up, girl!" he blurts cheerfully.

"Sorry," I giggle shyly.

Finishing up on that subject, Frank conveniently hands back the gun.

"Thanks for showing me your equipment, Blu. Your standalone demonstrations helped make me feel I was honestly there at your showcase while observing everything in action," he kindly acknowledges.

"No problem at all," I wink. "Now that you said it, it felt that way to me, too."

I return to the table with everything in my possession once again and pack everything into the case in the same respectful sorting. As I close the lid and push the case back against the wall, I can feel the double set of eyes just glued to my back. I slowly turn to my guests with another timid grin.

While they continue to admire me in our peace, it's like now I am suddenly promoted a higher power and must demand their attention. I wouldn't be the queen of a country per se but rather a certain spider. I'd be one of the much larger females who decides among a group of males by their gifts. Yet, I am undoubtedly the dwarf here so that's opposite of my analogy. Barely at level with the base of their necks as it is, I can picture William resting his chin comfortably on my head although I don't remember if he really did during our hug last night. Nevertheless, as I wouldn't care either way, I somewhat feel in control here.


	28. Chapter 27

As I battle against the more resisting temptation to look away imposed in the shyness ascending by William and Frank's mesmerizing stares, I then perceive Frank posing a grotesque expression. He cranks his head at every direction while noisily sniffing the air.

"Why is it smelling fishy all of a sudden?" he asks, disgruntled.

His magic word triggers my mind with surprise as I identify what he's talking about. I keep on a straight face of innocence as if clueless of the developing situation.

"Hmm, I don't smell anything," William calmly specifies.

"It's coming from over there, I believe," Frank points at my bathroom.

I groan loudly, from both the humiliation and the fact I am starting to catch the stench, too. The two focus back on me confused.

"Oh, snap, it's the other fish," I concede with annoyance as I zip into the bathroom.

Sure enough, the source of the odor is more fetid here. Collapsing onto my knees to inspect them closer, what I deem strange is nothing about them seems different since I abandoned them a little while ago. They are still mostly frozen and the water has adapted to their temperatures.

"Watson declared he has an oven for defrosting foods in a heartbeat. I don't know why the heck they are reeking like this," I say to the two men, who have parked against opposite sides of the door frame.

"Are you certain they might still be good for eating? Pardon if I'm being skeptical," William acknowledges.

"I am honestly starting to wonder that myself," I mutter suspiciously. "Well, as long as it's a plain fishy stench and not rotten, I suppose that'll pass."

Ripping off several extended pieces of paper towel, I lay them flat on the tiled floor evenly. I retrieve each fish from the water and grant them a minute to drip before wrapping them up. Lucky for me, there is no incentive to speed up the process recklessly by the driven fear of being pursued this time, which is making this job much more permissive than with the first fish. Even the ordeal with my hand isn't as resistant, either.

Finished, I yank off the plug to the tub's drain. As the tainted water sinks into the pipe that leads to who knows where, the putrid smell lessens. Tonight, I will have to thoroughly scrub it out before taking another regular bath so I won't go to bed reeking somewhat like raw fish. Eventually cramming all the fish into my arms, I rise to my feet vigorously and immediately meet with the inquisitive pairs of eyes.

"I must look a tad foreign, don't I? Do I depict a person who has to deliver fish frequently?" I question them.

"Eh, not precisely. You're not wearing the dull uniform to suit the image," William replies, grinning. "You need assistance with any of those?"

"Oh, no, I can manage, thanks. They weren't too much trouble as I was bringing them back to the station," I confirm, shifting them in my grasp for an enhanced hold.

"Wait, you were actually outside?"

"Um, yeah," I respond quietly.

"Andrea, why didn't you inform me?"

"I didn't think it was that dire like the other night. I just couldn't ignore the excuse of experiencing the beautiful weather," I explain more nervously.

"I would've loved to come with you," he reveals.

"Huh?"

"Cold or not, it would have been fun to hike alongside you and to escape work for a little while," he says warmly.

"Oh, um…phew," I sigh with relief. "I thought you were worried about me again for stepping out."

"Nah, and besides, you kind of deserved it as a little vacation. Next time, don't hesitate to ask me if I am not too busy, okay?" he winks.

"Okay," I answer timidly.

As before, I feel I have been appointed in higher command as I lead my humble colleagues out of my bedroom. Still anxious about the doors, I involuntarily slow to a crawl before getting too close but hasten my pace as I pass through.

Trotting through the main foyer, I glimpse at the entrance and compare today's hike to the one from two nights ago. Since it was more that William was only teasing me in the scold, I am very delighted he is not annoyed that I went outside. On another note, however, I could uncover the fact I first saw the fake Eskimo spirit today by the old derricks. Yet, I peek over my shoulder and bestow William a reassuring smile before straying off course for the dining room.

Upon entering, my lead is quickly relinquished as Frank darts ahead to snatch his toolkit that he left by the kitchen's door frame.

"See you two in a bit. You know what I got to do," he winks at me.

"Oh, I am really sorry about blowing up my light with the T-Laser, Frank," I confess somberly.

"Blu, don't fret about it, please!" he happily convinces me. "It will be complete before you can even begin skinning your first fish."

He lands a weak nudge of a punch on my front shoulder, which I end up accepting his challenge with a wicked sneer and soon forgetting my remorse. His fleeting absence is replaced by Watson appearing from the pantry room.

"Oh, is that the rest of your fish, Andrea?" he asks eagerly.

"Yep!"

Feeling a hand softly wrap over the peak of my other shoulder that didn't receive the feeble punch from Frank before, I can deduce without a doubt it's William this time.

"I've already thawed out the first one while you were gone. Oh, speaking of that, how are you feeling after that event?"

"Much better, and I am plenty ready now to assist," I reply.

"Awesome! Let's take care of warming up the others before we can really get started," he suggests as he encourages me inside.

Proceeding ahead of William's grasp, I enter the kitchen with him stopping by the door frame.

While unwrapping each fish from their neatly done parcels, Watson sticks the first of the school inside the portable oven he described earlier.

Eventually, the fish are merged into a convenient pile between our cutting boards at arm's reach. Watson has already arranged a single cutlery and a pair of gloves for us.

"First thing's first, Andrea, and that's to slip these on," he recommends the gloves as he heeds his own advice.

I quickly find myself in a state of déjà vu with my injured hand as I attempt to pull the glove over the bandages with difficulty. Fortunately though, I manage to succeed.

Watson next slaps a fish onto the center of his board.

"I shall demonstrate how to properly clean the scales off first. I assume you never tackled this task before?" he questions.

"That's right," I reply straightaway.

"Alright, here's how it's done…"

* * *

Minutes later, his board is littered with greenish-silver scales and his fish is completely naked.

"Now's it your turn. We'll concentrate on stripping away all of them before advancing onward, so it will be easier to dispose these loose scales in one sweep," Watson suggests, setting his fish on a clean plate from the mess.

Glancing over at William for one more ounce of encouragement, I take possession of my knife and start mimicking Watson closely. The gloves are indeed helping exceedingly well with even my bandaged hand, otherwise the fish might try to escape more readily and create frustration.

* * *

Under completion, the phalanges connected to my wounded hand are aching after handling that knife moderately awkward. Putting my fish with Watson's first, I notice my board is even sloppier.

"Congratulations, Andrea! You achieved a superb effort on your first attempt," Watson compliments me on a high note.

"Was it fun?"

Realizing that wasn't William who just now spoke behind me, I rotate my head curiously to see that Frank has returned.

"Um, how long were you here?" I ask him.

"About a couple minutes before you finished," he answers with a smug expression.

"Hey, you got to admit I did fairly well, especially with this."

Carefully setting my knife down, I present my right hand with a stern glare.

"And you did, indeed," he grins blissfully. "You also seemed to enjoy it."

I sneer back at his comment, sensing more appreciation with a skill I recently obtained as opposed to his endless times fixing light bulbs.

After granting my fingers some relaxation for a minute, Watson and I repeat the previous step a few more times with my heightened level of invigoration.

With every one of them stacking up like a mountain on the plate, we work on sweeping up our boards gingerly, which are glistening with scales by the overhead lights like animating ripples of water.

Afterwards, Watson plops a fish back on his board.

"Since this will be more challenging with your injury, I will gut and fillet these myself. However, you will earn a near full opportunity on the later step," he says.

* * *

He sets the final portion of fish on the same used plate with the rest, now ready for cooking. During his performance, I didn't lose a second of cognition to watch every second of it. I am also relieved the meats don't appear too tainted to consume, as it's still unknown how long these fish were deceased. The environment has definitely provided an effective, natural freezer for them until my arrival.

"Ready for the next part, Andrea? You want to have the honor of seasoning the fillets?" Watson asks.

"Aw, heck, yeah!" I spout eagerly.

"Let me take this one and you can focus on the others," he says as he retrieves the topmost piece.

After sorting out the fillets in several lines to cover my whole board, I head to the shelves for the selection of herbs I believe will sing well with this type of fish. Returning to the cooking island with a handful, I can see that Watson has already finished applying a thin layer of seasoning onto his meat and is patting it down. He carries it to the other side where a waiting pan eventually sizzles lightly.

"I'm preparing this one for Snowflake, in case you're curious," he chimes over the gradually escalating cacophony. "I normally don't coat too much on his food but what's odd is he absolutely loves certain herbs."

"I can imagine. He's surely one spoiled cat," I mention whimsically.

* * *

Ultimately satisfied in my work of dressing up the fish fillets with the ingredients I wished, Watson mulls over to check.

"Wow, you know how to season a fish! They look even yummier than before!" he happily comments.

"In the hundreds of times I've seasoned salmon before, it was a cinch. Plus, it was a great way to dwell on its creativity in art," I disclose.

His unfurled smile remains stretched across his countenance as he revolves around to the stoves once more and lifts the cooked meat onto a separate plate with his spatula. Then he approaches me and conveniently hands over the plate.

"How about you give this to Snowflake? I think serving it to him personally might actually persuade him to open up more to you without aggression," he assumes.

"I honestly hope so, too," I mumble softly as I gain control of the dish with both hands. "Thanks for allowing me to prepare the fish with you, Watson. It's been a delightful experience for me."

"You have my utmost gratitude, young chef," he winks and tips his cook's hat to me.

With a short and sweet chortle, I amble to the pantry room. Before disappearing from the kitchen, however, I detect the voices of William and Frank livening up and I brake in my pace.

"Gosh, just watching them has made me famished," William says, laying a palm against his stomach.

"Without a doubt," Frank complies. "I'm impressed how well they turned out, as a matter of fact."

With those words of motivation, I resume my way to Watson's room with my smirk cast even wider in their recognition.

First thing I notice right away upon entering is the cat located in a different spot on the floor than recalled yesterday, but he is still frozen in his prowling stance while the toy mouse scampers around in its figure-eight track.

I proceed a baby step forward before Snowflake's nose visibly twitches like it acquired a sudden itch and he rises from his position to look at me. He engages me curiously, like I have become the Pied Piper for cats, and relaxes again. We stare at each other for a few seconds, although I know he's more enthralled in where that delectable smell is coming from and what's on the plate I'm holding.

Carefully sidestepping past him to avoid accidentally kicking him or stepping on his tail, I stop at the center of the room and set the dish down on the rugged steel floor with a steady "clink!". On cue, he trots to it, gives the fish a swift whiff, and sinks his fangs into the first bite. Stationary in my squat, I observe with interest as he hastily digs into it, consuming large chunks without much of a chew.

"Glad you're liking it, Snowflake. I didn't exactly season it myself but I caught the fish especially for you," I mention.

In an amazing response, he ceases eating and mews adorably at me before returning to his meat.

Figuring now would be a good opportunity, I reach out my hand to pet him. Even when his ears flicker by the gentle touches of my fingertips, he doesn't appear fazed at all. Then I begin lightly stroking on his head. He does not react hostile this time but rather starts to purr between gulps.

"All it took to gain your trust was through your stomach, eh?" I ask him slyly.

After caressing him for another half-minute, I levitate back to full height once my legs have turned numb from the lack of oxygen-rich blood snaking through my major arteries by my crouch. Then something unexpectedly collides against the side of my sneaker.

I had not realized I was blocking the toy's path as I gaze down at it perplexed. While picking it up, Snowflake doesn't seem to mind as he's still concentrated on his fillet. Inspecting the mouse now lifeless in my good palm, I receive another random decision by my instincts to borrow it from Snowflake for a bit, as I might need it soon. Backing away from his view, I tuck it into my pocket.

As much as I am willing to watch this feline more, I know it's time to return to the humans. If Snowflake's relishing every bite of meat I did not exactly prepare, then those I did should receive improved reviews. I will be winning everyone's hearts by their hungry bellies tonight.


	29. Chapter 28

No sooner do I return to my favorite cohorts than do I retire myself at the precise spot in the bar from last night, encircled by the familiar duo presence that William and Frank distribute evenly. It's like I am offered absolute guardianship from them especially when they can't drive their utmost attention away for any other intent. Since Watson no longer requests assistance with the fish I had prepared, I decide to stick around anyway in case he does for even an inferior task. Indeed, those were a lot of meat I smothered in various seasonings. Also, due to his chef's lectures, I have accomplished much alongside him through novice participation. I have adapted from the master, so to speak.

As the two hold onto their drinks with content while I occasionally sip up my order of soda, we begin conversing about mainly our personal lives. Previously aware of Frank's school career as prankster, I finally bestow him the opportunity to try me. Half of the puns he spruces either urge me to quirk an eyebrow or argue it cannot be true, yet in the end, they leave me with the "I see what you did there," motive. Noticing my moderately tough wall deterring me from laughing much at his antics, he takes it another step by instead diving into the more hilarious stories that involved his fellow school students he sort of preyed upon back then. At some of his best points, I nearly snort out my soda through laughter and amazement, and I carry on the girlish giggles until my lungs become tense. I seriously wish I was there to see these stories unfold in person, occupying another front-row seat by William. Hmm, I wonder if Lisa was ever with him during Frank's little shows. Those two were such high school sweethearts and probably devoted their relationship away from their weekend arrangements, too.

After the remainder of Frank's comedy has concluded on a high note, I glance over at William and immediately perceive the comparison between him and his father's large portrait again.

"Is this what your father looked like back during his excursion here, William?" I ask, finally scratching out the personal question I've been keen to question since yesterday.

He examines his father's physique towering over us then gazes back at me with a calm grin.

"Actually, this was taken years before that, hence why he seems closer to my age," he replies, pointing at it briefly. "He wanted to introduce his age of fame to his crew when it first ascended with his wealth. In fact, before excavating here, he investigated in another area of Greenland, and that tiny pocket of oil he unearthed rocketed his career."

"Wow," I mutter. "Well, I admit, he is quite a handsome guy."

"Heh, thanks, Andrea. He was not exactly a social person to hang out with due to his short fuse that I warned you about, but that mostly changed when he first met Mother. She ended up being his pacifier after they became infatuated."

"No doubt, they sounded very lucky to meet each other. To be honest, when I saw this profile yesterday morning while you and Ben were monitoring me closely, I instantly thought it was you."

"Ha, ha! No, I don't have Father's thin mustache," he corrects, still chuckling away humbly.

"Yeah, I quickly figured that out myself."

"Which leads me to a question for you, Andrea. Do you think Father's mustache will seem good on me? Lisa resolved long ago I am fine without it, and I haven't really challenged very many other women on their intimate opinions."

"Um…" I hum, mulling deeply on the question as I resume contrasting the two. "I would agree with Lisa in a sense, but at the same time, I'd actually enjoy it if it was fuller."

"Oh, really?" he acknowledges coolly. "You have a strong taste in facial hair?"

"Just thick mustaches."

"Hmm, maybe Lisa won't mind anymore. I might take that into consideration for you," he confirms, shifting into his usual devil's countenance.

Admiring only a second of the stare, I swiftly turn away with part of my hair whipping me in the cheek. It feels like I haven't dealt with this fun in ages, even though it was only yesterday when it last arose. My timid giggles is eventually harmonized by the both of them with their satanic chuckles for my reaction.

* * *

A little later into our chitchat, as the smell of cooking food begins to engulf the dining room, its door responds with its normal hissing. Inquisitively noticing it's Owen accompanied by Ben as the first guests to appear besides us, a cringe of guilt directs me off my stool and towards them involuntarily.

"Guys, I really want to apologize for the way I shouted so crudely in front of you earlier," I somberly confess.

Their faces soften as they start splitting their sympathy with me. Ben then approaches me and nearly swallows me in his arms for a hug.

"It's okay, Andrea," he says calmly. "If you were just disappointed in us for not believing in you, I can see that. Admittedly, I never really known you had quite a strong voice, as you were always a soft speaker."

Releasing me, I back away to once again perceive the perfect view of him and Owen in my cone of sight.

"Don't worry about it," Owen suggests. "At least the oil you discovered was definitely the real stuff."

Before gathering more words, I feel hands simultaneously rest on my shoulders from behind. Determining who they belong to by their different sleeves, I suddenly sense complete enclosure as my colleagues have boxed me in. It dawns on me everyone here is simply trying to merge me into one of them. Now I can conclude I am much less of the outsider than a minute ago, with my bashful yet good nature being the sole rationality for the center of attention.

"Whoa, I smell something really good from the kitchen," Ben comments as he sniffs the air.

"Maybe that's because I prepared the main entrée," I mention.

He and Owen gawk at me with an enthusiastic surprise.

"In THAT case, I shall have no trouble indulging on your half of the cooking," Ben smirks as he continues to survey the scent. "Goodness, I had no idea you were such a swell chef."

"I only know what sings well with some food," I shrug.

* * *

As more time continues to roll by, the rest of the teamsters arrive at their own leisure. They, too, soon acknowledge the scent spreading from the kitchen, and how it causes their stomachs to grumble even louder as if irritated. By around eight, as the bleak night becomes easily noticeable in our instincts even though the dining room lacks any windows, the food is all ready. The patrons enter the kitchen and serve themselves a reasonable portion, similar in a buffet-style restaurant. They return with a full plate that also contains one of my fish fillets, which look even more beautiful as cooked.

In close pursuit by my two followers, I select the farthest seat that's closest to both the dining room and the restroom's door while William readily sits next to me, never taking his subtle smirk off me for even a split second of our arrangement. As we start digging in, the three of us pick up from where we previously set the bookmark on our personal topics. Once Frank asks me something important that is knowingly going to result in an extended story, I succumb to the belief they are now more intrigued to learn about me directly aside from my occupation as an inventor. I predicted it was going to come to that eventually. I admit I've poked my nose into other people's business, and yet it was mostly they who sparked up abstract passages of their private lives whilst I expected nothing more than simple answers from typical questions I mentioned.

* * *

Dinner has received so much positive feedback that most of the team didn't pass on second servings. Ben praised me greatly on the fish's excellent taste, even confessing it was right up there with Watson's fish done in the past if not a bit more improved. Seeing everyone's cravings made me relieved I brought in a large catch as it were, and the fish were decently-sized to fill up a person with a single fillet of meat.

By the time everyone is full enough to nearly burst, they can accommodate some energy to return their dishes to the kitchen before reclaiming their seats to continue conversing with their brethren.

I watch my overly complacent date with interest as he unbuttons his jacket to reveal his tie resting over the bulging shirt that is his belly. After undoing his belt a couple notches, he bows back against his chair with a drawn-out sigh of relaxation, massaging his stomach as he leers deviously at me.

"I must say, my dear…" William mumbles in a devil's tone, followed by a weak belch. "You have really shot it out of the ball park tonight."

"Gee, thanks. I'm glad I could fulfill the boss with the delight he deserves, disabled hand or not," I say with gratitude, showing off the famous Spock hand gesture with my right hand.

"Indeed, you weren't kidding about that."

While beaming at him with affection, I notice the slight movement of Frank from beside him, who just consumed the final bite of his grub. Imitating the identical, liberal comfort of leaning back on his seat, he curiously looks down to discover the ugly surprise of his swollen gut stressing out the buttons on his vest. He moans and grits his teeth, which forces a giggle out of me.

"Goodness, I thought only women would appear this way when they are pregnant! Look at you two!" I note excitably.

"Aw, now look what you've done, Blu. I'll have to resort to a strict dieting tomorrow if I am to be my normal, slender self again," Frank retorts.

"Hey, you DID have a second helping," I counter amusingly. "Here I am with my only one and I'm plenty filled. Besides, you didn't have to try to explode for the sake of impressing me."

"Your fish inspired the futile temptation though so I still assume it's your fault."

From his tone, however he is blaming me for the extra consumption, he is actually joking more than he's annoyed by the situation. I continue to smirk in subtlety.

"Didn't I warn you he can be a little fussy at times?" William reminds me.

Frank makes a squeak to counteract that remark but quickly ceases, realizing he is, nevertheless, correct. As he covers his face with his palm in humiliation and groans, William and I chuckle merrily in unison.

"You have done well, Andrea," he asserts, wrapping an arm around my shoulder again while continuing to caress his belly and grin evilly. "Watson will have to hire you as his assistant chef from now on. What you created was just appétissant."

"Aww, shucks…" I cower in my shyness, winking at him girlishly.

Suddenly, I hear a voice calling out my name from inside the kitchen and obediently look right at its source.

"Andrea, can you offer an extra hand in here? There's something I want you to make with me as a little surprise for our visitors."

"Oh, sure thing, Watson!" I respond.

Gazing back at William and Frank, I know they are presently eager to know why I am being summoned.

"Uh, I am not sure how long this may endure but hopefully not forever," I say, hazarding a guess.

"No problem. I'll embrace this as a neat present from you and wait it out until it's ready. We'll be here when you return," William confirms, shooting a glance at Frank to be certain.

I rise from my chair and conveniently take possession of both mine and their dishes before heading to the kitchen.

* * *

Ten minutes later according to the clock lazily ticking away above the bar, everyone begins to wonder vocally what else is going inside the kitchen as another wondrous scent fills their noses. Upon my reappearance, William and then Frank's eyes almost instantly follow me until I return to my seat. As their inquisitive stares mix in with the new excitement brewing inside of me, I can hardly contain the constant smiling and chuckling.

"Oh, that's telling me you have some splendid news to share with us," William implies.

I postpone a reply because of the exhilaration still manipulating me out of control. Resting my face against my hands, I finally grasp a few seconds to calm down by taking in deep breaths.

"It's nothing much. Watson just needed my help with making a few…um…waffle sundaes?" I stutter while holding back the laughter.

Their tranquility is swiftly replaced with shock as their eyes widen and jaws drop. With a harmful snort rattling my pharynx, I burst back into childish giggles.

"Oh, boy…" William murmurs nervously, glancing at the exposed kitchen. "Do I really have to?" he pleads to me, presenting his puppy dog expression.

I swear, his innocence is much similar to how Frank showed it yesterday when he asked me for a demonstration with my cameras. On the other hand, I can detect the attraction in his voice.

"You don't have to if you're too full to try," I recommend. "Like I said, you don't need to overeat just to satisfy me. Even I turned down the offer for dessert when I noted Watson the same excuse of not being hungry enough. I am plenty happy people relished my entrée tonight and that's that."

"Eh, you know what?" he concludes on a full commitment. "I want to be the first to experience a taste test of your scrumptious talent."

With a light patting of his stomach, which unexpectedly gurgles back in response, he motions to stand from his chair.

"Unfortunately…" I pipe in, causing him to stop. "As much as I am delighted to watch you both bloat some more if that's your desire, I'm afraid I can't stick around. I finally completed my main objective of setting up my camera system, but I was assigned another by Owen to aid him with the ritual. So, I better head to bed if I am going to require the extra energy tomorrow."

"Aww, can't you stay a little longer? You can judge us by how well we can endure your dessert," William suggests; Frank's face immediately lightens up and he nods excitedly.

Sighing affectionately, I shake my head in the slight disappointing truth.

"Don't worry, I'm only teasing," he says.

"Oh, way to go, Bill. You really got me stoked for the challenge there," Frank argues.

William chuckles again in amusement to his friend's retort.

"Andrea, I wish to thank you for your standing, mutual compromise from today's predicament. Just do what you can and if you find anything out of the ordinary, don't hesitate to call."

"I will, William. Good night."

"Sweet dreams to you, my lady," he replies coolly.

Before trailing too close to the dining room's door out of here, a thought strikes me and I pause. I curiously turn back to the two, who start discussing matters but throw a glimpse at me when they realize I haven't departed. There is a special message I wanted to give to William but my anxiety has prevented me from putting my foot down since we first met. As more of the temporary bravery fills into my system, I finally grasp the chance with a serious urge to just get it over with and slowly approach him.

"I…I love you," I whisper closely in his ear.

I smack a light kiss in the air to display my feelings. Now with the tension building up for expressing it, I swiftly bid my good night to the more quizzical Frank before darting out like a bullet.

While heading back to my room, I begin to laugh maniacally to let out the excessive exhilaration. The echoes bouncing off the main foyer hit my eardrums with such vigor as I continue on the racket.

* * *

I am located in the watch tower, without the presence of Chin or anyone else. The day sky engulfing the world from outside is absolutely cloudless, illuminating the most elegant cerulean ever perceived. I tiptoe to a window to curiously peer down, only to notice there is no ground below at all. In fact, the entire station of 'Mary' is gone besides the tower. It's like it has stretched much higher than ever, touching heaven where everywhere is the same sky.

Watching the magnificent view for endless miles of this undisturbed paradise, a whoosh fills my eardrums from behind. I shift my whole attention towards any possible indication of the source in confusion. Then several thin, white wisps shimmer into view, which seem very familiar from that night I caught them hovering over my bed at home. They swirl and mold into a larger transformation until they fully depict a human figure.

I immediately remember the stranger now standing before me as clothes gradually wrap on his body. The clothing is not like the same uniform worn by the fake Eskimo spirit, so this being must be the real deal. Clueless about whether it is the same vocally vicious native from last night, at least he appears very normal aside from his half-transparency and almost ghostly-white skin. His facial features are also all present. He stares straight at me with absolutely no wrath emitting from his eyes.

"Please, I beg of you, help me," he beseeches calmly. "This current state of remaining away from the afterlife has been such a letdown and I've searched so long for eternal peace."

"Were…were you the same Eskimo who clearly refused our help from my nightmare last night?" I ask nervously.

"That was not me," he implies. "Unlike my ancestors, I never believed in vengeance. I know you and your friends are here to set things right by the past of demise."

I delay to respond, still suspicious if what he stated is true. Although I don't know what to believe in, I remain determined in contributing to this cause no matter what.

"Don't you worry then, Mister Eskimo, we will do anything humanly possible. I am especially committed to help you find your passage into heaven," I confirm.

The ghost trots over to hug me for my pledge. I can't quite feel the hug physically but instead a pleasant, arctic chill seeping from his hollow body.

"I know you yourself are honest in your covenant nature and I'll hold up to your promise, no matter the time allotted for its success. However, that is not the only reason why I am here. For the past two days you and your crew have settled, you've discovered quite a bit from your creation, including the mystery of why there's an imposter of me wandering within your vicinity. Hence, I want to bestow you wise advice that will keep you secure for the upcoming days."

"You're giving me advice? Why, above everyone else?" I ask, bewildered.

"Because of your commitment, your rank as a foreigner amongst your team, and your findings. In ways, it reminded me of myself when I was still alive. Even though I was born a native Eskimo, I always felt a little shunned until my family proved my otherwise. It took a few years into my adulthood to seek out the ultimate secret."

"I guess that's viable," I mention, still uncertain. "So, what do you wish to tell me?"

"Be prudent of who you trust throughout this mission. You already presumed once you mortals may want to help but that's only an outside obligation. Your only true ally, in the end, is yourself. Whether you've dedicated to the right that you've done so far, or to the wrong as my charlatan posed, there will always be an invisible friend attempting to steer you in the smartest path, especially if some turmoil runs amiss. It's up to you if you choose to embrace these decisions and run with it, no matter the obstacles."

"Ally? Are you referring to our conscious, native?"

"Much deeper than that, my friend. That and your more informed intuition are second in line in case the best fails. It's some of these tricky scenarios where you must make your own decisions and be faithful. Remember that as you stay in my arctic home. Since I turned to you, you are being put to the big test, and it's not so much regarding your mortal task either. I will always be around to offer anymore guidance if you ever find yourself stuck, but I recommend letting this sink it for the time being. Also, feel free to visit me at any time," he concludes.

"Visit you? Where?" I murmur.

Instead of revealing anymore, the Eskimo quietly shimmers into nothing, leaving me baffled. Before able to figure out anything more, both the sky and the tower morph into nothing but a white environment, where a few speckles of snow are popping up all around.


	30. Chapter 29

Day 3

Rousing from a supposed ending to another subconscious episode, the nerves underneath my skin react to the heater's consistent gusts of warm air brushing against my half-exposed body serenely. My movie reel of dreams reverses to the new, crucial event from sometime last night, this time involving the actual Eskimo spirit appearing before me in peace. Talk about a night and day comparison to the previous nightmare, and I am now aware the vile native who scolded me then is the not same person as I predicted. On the other hand, they all seemed alike to me in the midst of my panic.

With the Eskimo's prayer of deliverance gnawing away at my conscious, it leaves me more determined than ever to assist him, but what he mainly suggested perplexes me. I think, the only way he will be freed is if I somehow help myself, preparing for the so-called "big test" when it approaches. Maybe I don't have to exactly worry about him and instead perform my job casually, but does that mean our upcoming séance will be a fruitless attempt to summon him? So many more unfulfilled questions in exposure than yesterday that is yet to pinpoint an answer.

I ponder thoroughly into this startling enigma, putting the pieces together as I begin dressing myself for another day. With another breakfast consumed to boost my energy and confidence, I resume focus on today's objective: to find the remaining items for Owen's gathering so it can finally commence.

Mindlessly banking the immediate left to the other divided hallway after leaving the dining room, I enter the isolated corridor and is swiftly greeted by a new image I least expected.

There's Lisa, relaxing in a corner with a ring of lit candles surrounding her. She's currently facing the southern wall, not at all alarmed by the door's sound I triggered while arriving. Judging from her position with legs crossed and arms resting comfortably in her lap, she seems succumbed into one of her own private sessions. The tiny flames frolic excitably on the tips of the candles, while conjuring an aura of light and warmth. Since she's not moving, they must be dancing by the air extruding from the single large vent by the northern entry.

As I tiptoe closer to avoid bothering her with any abrupt noises, I soon also realize how her eyes are shut and her chest heaving slowly by steady breathing. These candles are perfect for Owen, but how will I ask without sounding too desperate for them and create an unnecessary scene? It feels wrong to only talk with Lisa regarding them, as we haven't spoken since two mornings ago. Then an improved idea fills in my head and my expression brightens with assurance, knowing these candles will wind up in the same place.

Before seeking the courage to talk, Lisa opens her eyes and looks up at me.

"Hello there, Andrea! How's it going today?" she cheerfully asks.

Her tone definitely defines a mood like she is overly giddy to see me again, although I am not too certain we are considered super best friends just yet. After all, I think she is still slightly ticked of me invading her personal conference the other day.

"Oh, nothing much," I reply normal. "Just planning my usual routine plus an extra job Owen assigned me to."

"How's your hand doing?" she points at my bandages.

"Sore but hopefully it will heal in time and I can use my hand accordingly again. Ashamed of its ugliness, I was forced to hide it from most of you to avoid any uproars. Now that I've shown it to pretty much everyone individually, I'm no longer anxious but still disgusted in the injury. Sorry to say you're the last to see this," I explain, raising my hand to bestow her a better perspective.

"It's okay. I was concerned for you after the accident," she implies.

"Weren't you more annoyed that I stumbled into your room though? Even I criticized William on his inability to elaborate the remainder of his father's story to you without being so troubled about me."

"As you noticed, I was indeed irritated by your intrusion, but in all honesty, I'm on the same boat as him. I also became deathly afraid of my door. Speaking of which, did anyone inform you Frank found nothing wrong with it?"

"He told me himself, yes, although he wasn't thrilled to bear me the disappointing news. True, no one will have to worry about it anymore but here I am with this as a reminder. I still can't fathom why it closed the way it did."

"I know exactly what you mean and I can sympathize your pain. Maybe we're not allowed to stay in its way too long," she guesses with a brief exhale.

"That's my most logical explanation at the moment, with another speculation that wasn't crossed off after receiving the information. I predict the ghosts were somehow behind it, picking on whoever was presently more vulnerable. It could even be me in general they are targeting," I mention.

"Eh, sorry to burst your bubble but I suspect that's the case. We may have rogue spirits stalking within our vicinity and trying to frighten us, but it nonetheless sounds ludicrous they would attack a mortal by some physical force."

"Hey, it's alright. I guess I'm leaning too far in an obscure direction by merging opinion with fact and shouldn't jump to conclusions right away. It's just…these misfortunes I faced lately, making me wonder what in the world is going on here."

"So much has reared its ugly head to you within our short period of this excursion," she agrees. "I'm clueless on whatever else happened aside from your injury and the chopper crisis so you may have encountered more than I've witnessed."

"That reminds me: have you spotted anything unusual lately?" I ask.

"No, nothing yet. Since day one, I haven't distinguished anything out of the ordinary, such as our spirit's presence or any supernatural events that would appear haunting to us," Lisa discloses, gazing straight into my eyes without blinking.

"That's odd…I'd expect something to happen by around now," I assume.

"Likewise. Perhaps, with the way this place has remained deserted for years, they haven't quite returned when there are no people to fend off. They probably know what it's like for utter desolation to become very boring."

"I somewhat find your hypothesis a little suspicious, sorry to say, Lisa," I timidly confess. "In my recent experience, my miniature camera device has been notorious for howling eerily when an immortal is nearby. Since after my final testing, it reacted once more after we landed."

"Really? Are you sure your machinery weren't malfunctioning?" she wonders, baffled.

"Truthfully, that was my first assumption since I didn't know what else to believe…until I had a recurring dream of the very event."

"Oh, you experienced it in a dream shortly after," she blurts in understanding. "Now that makes more sense. One of the subjects me and my fellow students uncovered during our after-school organization was how apparitions can figure out how to meddle with our subconscious when they request aid. Do you think this howling you speak of could be them?"

"Yeah, and I don't know what it is, exactly. It's likely a cry of despair or that's how they communicate altogether," I clarify.

"Hmm…" she hums with interest. "Have you mentioned this to anyone else?"

"William," I answer. "When he asked that key question, I couldn't resist holding back. I think he somehow knew."

"Well, no sense in either of us sparking up a cat fight about who's more accurate. Even as I also find your theory skeptical, at the same time, encountering any signs of a phantom is puzzling. Again, I am moderately astounded your equipment is able to detect them," she states.

Maybe it's wise for the time being I don't reveal even a portion of my other dreams to her, as I'm unsure if they will link a special connection in the near future if they persist. Besides, the Eskimo may want me to store away that information for myself.

"It's true I've been appointed such an invigorating job. All there is to do is scan parts of 'Mary' for these guys and concludes what they're up to, basically," I note.

"Fair enough. You might even have fun between slower moments," Lisa says, grinning.

"I actually took that advantage yesterday, as a matter of fact. I decided to step outside to view Greenland's environment in person. It was absolutely breathtaking," I brightly comment.

"Brrrr! I'd explore like you did but I despise the subzero temperatures. I've wanted to witness the landscape from up at the watch tower, however."

"Oh, you should," I persuade with a nod. "It is such a heavenly sight up there. You'd be gawking at the mountains for hours on end."

"You were up there, too?"

"Yep, before I went out. I also noticed Chin performing his own meditation. We managed to chat about…mainly personal stuff for a little bit."

"I really wanted that spot for my rituals but he beat me to it, so whatever," Lisa shrugs on a more sour tone.

As much as I've enjoyed our more pleasant topics, although that first one risked an argument, I revert back to the more crucial reason for conversing with her.

"Well, I apologize for abruptly ending that chitchat but there's something important I need to bring to your attention," I confirm, sighing softly.

"Not a problem, Andrea. What's going on?" she asks content.

"I would not be bothering you if the favor wasn't so forceful," I clamp my teeth tightly and look away.

"Hey, don't feel discouraged. Judging from that look on your face, you're preoccupied by this. We are all here to lend a helping hand, and I am willing to do my part for my new best friend," she winks.

I blink and glare with awe, although I'm also relieved she granted our friendship.

"Besides, I don't want to waste too much time away from my contemplation, as I may no longer feel energized to finish it. When I'm done, we can continue our conversation without hindrance," she continues.

"Okay…" I respire again for motivation. "Owen asked me to gather a few items for his big séance. I already found one of them yesterday but there's still two more to go. Umm…"

"Spit it out, girl! I won't bite, promise!" she highly convinces.

"I am in need of candles," I finally reveal.

As expected, her eyes perk up with interest, now aware of my situation.

"It's for his session, correct?"

"Mm-hmm," I reply with another nod. "However, I figured instead of me borrowing your used candles, you can lend him some for me. I know they'll end up in the same place, either way."

She dives into deeper brainstorming, staring at the miniature drops of flame still frolicking away while I wait patiently with minor remorse. Seconds later, her face glows and gazes at me again with enthrallment.

"Okay, I will give him a small pack of new sticks to use…on a small favor from you," she confirms.

What is it with these folks and their favors? Why have I been constantly assigned 'delivery girl' to them? Maybe it's still a test to prove trust.

"I can comply if you have both your normal job and the third item to keep an eye on, so I won't demand you to tackle this favor if you get too busy," she clarifies.

"No, I'd rather get it done quickly in order for the gathering to finally occur on cue. It's been three days since our visit," I solemnly insist. "So, what do you ask for?"

Lisa respires deeply as her face melts away into compassion, leading me to instantly recognize this kind of behavior.

"Let's do a trade for Frank," she asserts.

"Wait, what?" I spout confused. "You want me to go fetch him for you?"

"No, just a photograph of him will suffice. I know all of him will be too much to ask."

Then she chuckles adorably, causing some of the candles to liven up some more as she shifts around slightly.

"You admire his stylish looks, eh?" I ask with amusement.

"You're a girl, too, so you can easily understand my love for certain men. In this case, it's for him."

"Wait, I thought you and William were inseparable lovers," I mention, still bewildered.

"Not exactly. We're just friends who appreciated our time together. What inspired my heart for Frank wasn't just his devious pranks but his charm. I can imagine his lengthy hair waving in the wind in a sexy manner. It's…uhhhh…" she sighs deeply, her face almost going blank.

"And William doesn't mind?" I ask.

"No, for the dates we attended, he was only interested in the entertainment they brought instead of being too friendly with me. He probably realized my true love for his friend and didn't want to drill too far into our relationship."

"That's smart, so his dear heart won't end up being broken. Hey, while we're talking about it, I won't mind revealing my love."

"I think I already know who that is but I won't spoil it. Tell me," she says eagerly.

"I can concur that Frank is a very handsome guy and I felt a little obsession for him within the past couple days. Yet, I am more set for William, since he was the first to strike me right in the bulls-eye. That moment he stood in front of me during my cameras' presentation, I freaked out on the inside. Not the first time someone has done so, but I think this one has taken the cake and it's sticking. Then, I grew more intimate after hearing his dedication for our deceased Eskimo friend. I admire people for their moral deeds, but nevertheless, the sly devil in him won me over first," I blab on.

"Sounds like you found the perfect soul mate, and it's true that angelic deeds help a person's love ascend for another. You have your huge affection pinned on him as I do on Frank. I even caught a glimpse of you whispering something to William before you left the dining room last night. Was it what I think it is?" she asks.

"Yes, I muttered straight out I loved him," I concede without hesitation.

"Don't be ashamed of admitting it. I'm sure he is flattered by your feelings."

"Eh, I think he was waiting for me to finally confess it."

"Aww…! Well, how about we keep these secrets to ourselves, okay? No reason to kindle any unwanted excitement like you desired with your injury."

"I have no problem holding it between us," I assure her. "So, Frank's picture is all you need?"

"Yep! Afterward, I will return your offer with no further strings attached," she replies.

"Thanks very much, Lisa," I acknowledge kindly.

"What is this third item you're searching for, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Blood, and Owen suggested not from a human. If he didn't mind, I would have volunteered but my wounds are already stitched up."

"You were going to sacrifice your own blood?" she bursts out shocked.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a sin to deliberately hurt yourself in order to shed some blood, unless if you're donating it for charity," she warns sternly.

"Oh, I had no idea," I mutter. "Well, since that option's out either way, I have a good hunch where to find some. I presumed yesterday to scout around Watson's kitchen or even the pantry room since he's bound to mess with raw meat anytime."

"That is a good place to begin. Good luck with your find, Andrea."

"Thanks. I'll let you return to your ritual, and later on we can catch up on more things, especially our lovers," I shift my eyebrows with a mischievous smirk.

"Hee, hee! Sure," she accepts, giggling lightly.

I reverse my steps to the same door I had previously entered, leaving Lisa alone to her space.


	31. Chapter 30

Filled with the ambition to just seek out the blood and get it over with, I stride back to the dining room at ease. Even if Watson still hasn't dealt with any raw meats yet, they are bound to be marinating in their own untainted blood in the refrigeration room. Surely, Owen won't mind too much of the blood's chilled state of however long these rations were stored here. Shoot, it's astounding we have any food available at all, aside from the measly snacks we brought for the flight and my fish yesterday. It's understandable if the rations were packaged so well it's extended their life span since 'Mary' was deserted, plus whatever cans and preservatives that don't require cooling. Either Owen was presently aware or just blindly fortunate of the probable fact there wouldn't readily be a third ingredient. As Lisa warned it's immoral to sacrifice my own blood for most purposes, I still would have volunteered with my wounds just to assist. My gauze from yesterday may have soaked up some more like a sponge to possibly work, but I think at this point, my cuts have quit weeping as excessively.

Upon entry, I nearly fly off my feet in the abrupt shock of what my eyes immediately perceive. As half my body petrifies like stone, I don't hesitate to sigh sharply and shake my head in humiliation with myself. There's Watson, once again carefully wiping up the shelves with the same rag inside the bar, this time accompanied by the twosome of William and Frank occupying the same stools I remember yesterday evening from the kitchen when confronting them. The second all three heads steer my way simultaneously, I flinch from the anxiety pumping vigorously.

"Salutations, Andrea! How are you this fabulous morning?" William cheerfully asks.

Frank presents his Cheshire cat's sneer as a silent greeting.

"Hello, everyone," I mumble while approaching them. "I am doing fine, thanks for asking."

"Splendid! Is there anything you need?"

As I begin contemplating how to cite the blood, the thought of Lisa's request flashes and I frown. I would despise saying straight from the horse's mouth I need a photograph of Frank to suit her obsession. Then a third subject rings up and I emerge with a lifted expression.

"Well, there are several things in mind but there's something I'm particularly interested in asking you two. How was it?" I ask.

"Hmm? How was what?" William wonders perplexed.

"Oh, come on, Willy, I think you know full well what I mean since I bailed out early last night," I chime pleasantly. "How were those desserts?"

"Oh, that! Yes, it really was a bummer you couldn't stick around to watch us gorge it all down, because it was simply fantastic. I felt so bloated in the end I thought I was going to explode but I managed to consume the final bite," he happily clarifies.

I can sense his tone filled with innocence, trying to hide away the embarrassment of whatever else occurred during that experience.

"Our guts were pretty much talking endlessly throughout the whole night," Frank coolly says. "Really, they were consistent enough to harmonize with Bill's snoring, which I'll admit, deterred me from getting a decent sleep. We each also had a button popped as soon as we returned to our quarters, which explains the slightly different clothing we're wearing today."

I gasp then burst into laughter along with Watson's hearty chuckle. Actually, their uniforms seem mostly unchanged, as William's suit is plainly alike as before. Frank's vest, however, is dark-gray from just the back.

"Must you mention my snoring?" William growls at his friend.

"Mm-hmm!" Frank hums deviously. "Seeing as you exposed my humble secret, it's payback time."

"Okay, Watson, throw together some popcorn and soda. I think we're in for a neat showdown," I joke.

"Hate to dishearten you, Andrea, but he's correct about that so no reason to commence any senseless brawls. Also, I'm more pleased than anything to see you lighten up from that touch of humor," William confesses calmly.

"Aww, shucks," I moan in fake sadness. "Well, either way, I'm delighted everyone loved it. I only wished I spared enough room and energy for the sundae, too. So, aside from that, there's a couple more crucial matters irking me."

"Fire away!" he encourages.

"Alright. First off, you know where I can find blood around here?"

William expresses surprise and amazement, sharing glances with Frank and Watson. Frank leers at me with increasing curiosity, enthusiastic of where this could be heading.

"Blood?! Andrea, please don't tell me you've gone vampire on me!" William exclaims whimsically.

Giggling, I decide to play along in this little game. Flipping my hair back, I hold it tightly in a bundle to unveil my bare neck.

"See any bite marks?" I question, partially twisting my neck at different angles while pointing at it.

"No…I suppose not. What a relief," he sighs.

"Oh, I know what," I pipe up, then smirk at Watson. "How about a shot of Bloody Mary?"

"Wait, I thought you didn't drink," William wonders in confusion.

"That was bad, Blu," Frank accuses in a low grumble.

It figured Frank would be first to decipher my pun rather quick, as he obviously knows innumerable jokes like the back of his hand.

"Bad that I am remotely impressed you came up with an intelligent quirk there," he continues.

"Does that mean I am evenly matched for your own antics?" I ask.

"Hmm…nah. I wasn't THAT fascinated when I could have cooked up something more ingenious. Don't forget I'm still considered a legendary," he brags.

"Hey, I learned from the master last night," I point out. "True, it was more expected the moment I mentioned the blood, but at least it wasn't about vampires, eh?"

He scoffs with an amusing disbelief and his cunning stare narrows.

"To answer your question, Andrea, try out the pantry room," Watson recommends. "I was trimming out pieces of meat a little while ago for tonight's dinner and almost drained out the blood that was at the bottom of those steel canisters."

"Thanks, and don't worry about the 'drink' part. William pointed out the real truth."

"I realized from your droll pitch you didn't mean it. What do you need blood for, anyway?"

"Owen's ritual. Yesterday, he asked me to gather some items for it to work effectively, I guess," I reply.

"Now THAT explains it!" William asserts, more relaxed.

"Yep! After that, there's one more ingredient before he can ultimately begin, and I'm plenty persevered to just achieve this hunt soon. I can't believe we're on day three of our adventure already."

"What is this final item?" Frank asks.

"Candles."

"I noticed Lisa with some at the empty corridor. Maybe you can ask her."

"I sort of ran into her already after breakfast, and we started chatting away nonstop like girls typically do. I presented my hand in shame since she's actually the last person to see it although one of the first to witness the incident in action. Umm…"

Pausing a moment to gaze at Frank, I detect a similar vibe emitting between his long bangs. It's feasible why Lisa has a deep appreciation for him, like my own affection that constantly reminds me what's going on when I ponder suspiciously. The way she charms him like they're a perfect pair, I'd rather not want to barge and kindle a fight for dominance even if he is quite suave; I still have my special mate pinned in. It's amazing how one's love for another can lure them easily like moths to a flame.

"We mainly discussed my issue on my little scavenger hunt, concluding it by asking her about the candles," I resume. "She'll cooperate if I do something for her."

"What is that?" he asks.

Concern elevates as I remember my pledge to Lisa to not ever expose her secret. If she is this madly in love with Frank, it will show sooner or later on even a slight whim, and she'll have no one to blame for. It isn't easy for me to keep a straight face undisturbed when I'm freaking out over William.

"I'm afraid I can't say, as it's really between me and her on a swear. Better to be safe than sorry on my part," I calmly disclose, gulping inside my throat.

"Wait…I think I know what's up," he assumes.

Staying tranquil and silent, I await his delaying response.

"She has a crush on me, does she?"

He bestows me a darling wink, throwing me off for a loop as I spout another harsh gasp followed by a weak nodding.

"Seriously, I am surprised of the way you're expressing your feelings for me just out of shyness. Do you actually like me, as well?"

"I will not lie that I do," I answer more steadily. "Although, now that I'm aware, I have no intention in starting some nasty cat fight with Lisa over this predicament. Besides, when you stepped into the helicopter, I sensed this familiar reaction which escalated the second you and William sneered so fiendishly at me. I also got the impression he told you what's up between me and him."

Falling peaceful again, my solemn expression freezes as I imagine what Lisa might do if she realizes I somewhat spilled the beans. Frankly, I am not that overly dependent in storing away secrets, but I also become very guilty when they are revealed, however invaluable they were.

"Oh…are you fine with me informing my friend of our relationship, Andrea?" William asks concerned.

"Huh?" I hum.

"I don't sink into personal exchanges between other people, Andrea, if that's what you're troubled about," Watson states. "I won't peep a word of it to anyone else."

"Um, thanks," I mutter serenely.

Unsure whether to accept that, at least he sounds more candid than I am.

"I don't care if you told Frank how close we are. I am utterly content with that! No problemo!" I highly note to William.

I can only hope my friendship with Lisa won't end so violently like a volcanic eruption.

"Andrea?"

Ignoring William's plea, I concentrate back on my original thought regarding the blood.

"I best return to my objectives before this day slips even further away, and I'm very eager to see what this séance can do. Watson, you have anything I can use to gather up the blood?" I ask.

"Like a napkin or a container?"

"More preferably a container. I want to preserve it for as long as possible without it drying up or contaminated while I fulfill Lisa's favor. I also like to have it covered so it can't slosh over," I clarify.

"Tell you what, Andrea. I managed to complete all my major chores for the remainder of the day until evening sets, thus I will be participating in this event. I can be in charge of the blood until we're ready to begin, then I'll freely hand it to Owen."

"Oh, wow! Thanks, Watson!"

"Hey, you did well with that fish yesterday, so I think I owe you a small favor," he grins.

"You don't have to for that but if that's what you wish. Alright, I'll see you all later in the lab," I bid farewell.

Before making myself scarce with feeble words of goodbye from everyone, I notice the identical remorse painted on William's face from two evenings ago, when he sympathized for my stream of bad luck as I tried not to cry. I give him a quaint grin and wink, just to ensure I am not terribly disappointed in him for anything. His own smile gradually appears in reaction, although it doesn't seem one of true happiness. Without further adieu, I scoot out of the dining room.

"Uh-oh, did I upset her again?" William solemnly asks his colleagues.

"She did seem burdened by whatever it could be, but I assure you your secrets are well preserved in my possession," Watson confirms.

"Don't sweat it, Bill, she'll be okay. We both known of Lisa's infatuation for me ever since you introduced her to me. Admittedly, she is quite a weirdo but I'm flattered of her feelings," Frank acknowledges.

"Maybe. Hmm, what you think is causing Andrea to be so intimidated over us? I saw the way she gasped at you in a similar reaction I experienced, and that left me slightly discouraged."

"Like you mentioned before, it's likely how she is with her highly amiable yet nervous behavior you adore. All I did was wink at her and she cowered like a frightened animal."

"Sigh, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised anymore. You're correct I'm definitely in love with her innocent nature," William concludes, grinning feebly.

* * *

My face is all deprived of expression as I eavesdrop on their prevailing conversation through my camera device. Before reaching the turn at the end of the lobby, I cruise to a stop and inquisitively peek over behind me, staring at the dining room's door that mysteriously appears farther than I remember.

Maybe I should have further disclosed my concern for Lisa that's really surrendering me to this baffling silence. I couldn't care less if people know my affection, as I'd rather witness the glee on their faces like I'm instead engaged in marriage. Only time will determine whether Lisa will land me some brunt force of attack or I'll walk away unscathed until this mission ends. Last thing I desire is another event of misfortune to add into my collection, but it is probably better to accept this consequence.


	32. Chapter 31

I return to my quarters after that brief meeting with my cohorts in the dining room, filled with the delight that my scavenger hunt is practically finished and I won't have to waste anymore time on the blind search. Both Watson and Lisa are very generous to lend a hand, holding onto the remaining items while I still have the cup of ash until everything is ready to rock n' roll as planned. Of course, I still have to accomplish Lisa's own little mission before she can return my favor. It must be ironic that Owen primarily asked me for these ingredients but will end up receiving them from two other people besides myself.

Feeling lazy, I kick off my sneakers without bothering to untie their laces and slump on the bed with a light bounce. As I calmly stare at the mundane ceiling and the rest of my room with minor interest, I begin to ponder where is the most likely place to find Frank's photograph. Then a burdening idea causes my stomach to lurch, leading me to realize the prospect of its location is in his bedroom somewhere.

My tango with his tank was so discouraging I don't feel comfortable getting anywhere near that door again. I close my eyes, immediately imagining it aiming square at my face and firing with an explosion as intense as a cannon. Regardless of its minuscule size, it feels very much like a normal tank, with the inside of its gun barrel consumed by a black, bottomless void. The anticipated shot will blast me off my feet, killing me straightaway or leaving me in immense pain until I expire.

Also, recalling Frank's mention of upgrading the vehicle after repairing it, I predict the odds against me are even slimmer this time around if I dare attempt this feat once more. It's much like facing a video game boss multiple times, where every round after another will require a different strategy or higher endurance to withstand their attacks until they die or flee. My agility from the previous encounter may not be enough this time, so I feel I am out of options.

As my brain scrambles desperately for the foolproof plan, my inquisitive gaze shifts to the objects resting on the table, which include the cup of ash, the steel case, and Snowflake's toy. The longer I play the staring contest with the mouse, the more I realize the possible answer to my dilemma is right there. Snowflake was always keen on pouncing it but never actually done so, and this toy has the energy of a real mouse. I rise from my pillow to get an improved perspective of it, deducing the tactic of using it as a diversion against the tank while I search for that photograph might actually work. I won't expect Frank to have it exposed unless it's framed.

I pull out my camera device and switch to the single camera overlooking Frank and William's enclosure. Scrutinizing every inch carefully, I spot a black leather binder leaning against one of the table's legs closest to Frank's mattress. This seems too formal to be for other than storing important bundles of paper, which also deems a feasible candidate to begin looking for that photo. I still find it surprising Frank is depending on paper like an abundance, especially when that substantial growth in technology a couple decades past has created an utterly new lifestyle for us.

With a new strategy set into formation, I dig the presently napping gadget into my pocket and slip back into my sneakers as I find both feet on the floor. I grab the mouse from the table, and with a slight delay, I bolt for the door.

As the door separating the third and fourth hallway segments opens, I freeze the second I can mostly see their bedroom door in view. For that swift moment after I concluded where to find Frank's picture, I was pumped with enough bravery to make it this far without any futile interference. My heart starts to drum excitedly inside my rib cage, pulsating throughout parts of my body as I peacefully hold my breath. I am about to enter the lion's den yet again, ready for another ordeal of misfortune to remember from this Greenland trip despite being more prepared. Looking down at the mouse resting in the deep pit of my palm, it actually seems more than eager to pursue this jeopardy and prevail. With a deep sigh for invigoration, I wind the toy to max and hold it securely before entering the flat.

I advance only a baby step ahead before the door shuts behind me, confining me in my prison cell. I tiptoe towards the nearest corner and squat into position. Although the alarm sounded when I approached the center of the room last time, I wait patiently in case the door alerted the tank of my invading presence in a more silent manner.

After a minute ticks by with nothing else occurring, aside from the machinery on the table beeping wildly and my attempt to keep a steady breathing, I place the readied toy on the floor.

"Be strong, little guy," I mumble to it quietly before releasing it.

The mouse zips to the center of the room, eventually finding the perfect spot to perform its normal figure-eight motion. As I throw nervous glances at it and the opened bathroom, the alarm finally blares and I cross my fingers for luck. The tank treads out of the bathroom as previous, but this time it engages the mouse and completely ignores me. I wonder if my stance of being immobile as a rock is somehow working to my advantage.

The mouse resumes it animation without question, either unaware of the imminent danger or taunting the tank with energy. Right as the tank barrels close enough and adjusts its aim, the toy immediately changes course, orbiting around it without faltering its speed.

"Is this mouse really a toy? How did it know to do that?" I ask myself, baffled.

The tank rotates its torso as quickly as possible to catch up with it, but is unable to focus accurately and fire. Within another minute, the vehicle begins choking down again and gradually ceases all movement. I gasp softly and smile at the flawless result, knowing how much easier this tactic was compared to my last one.

"So, this tank was upgraded, Frank? Are you sure?" I ask in suspicion.

The mouse cruises to a stop as its final ounce of power is siphoned, parking in front of the stalled tank and almost looking directly at me. Believing it's all over, and again feeling my legs turn numb from the extended crouching, I rise to full height and kick my feet around to get the blood flowing. Then I cautiously approach the leather binder while keeping an eye on the tank and squat down again to scoop up the toy.

"Thanks, buddy. I'd kiss you but I don't know where you've been," I mumble, scoffing lightly.

Setting the mouse back on the floor to face the binder for now, I throw another glimpse at the tank, suspicious of whether it will attempt another surprise attack at me. I unzip the binder and spread it wide open to reveal an accordion folder full of assorted papers, watching a few lean off to either direction like an exposed book. Then a lifeless face turned sideways throws me off guard, instantly recognizing Frank's stylish countenance.

I partially pull out the standard paper-sized portrait to examine him staring back serenely through some slick shades. The large rifle he's holding is approximately half his height from the ground. Judging from the photo's setting behind him, this picture was taken out in the middle of the woods somewhere, with rows of thick trees standing boldly and allowing only sparse beams of sunlight striking the bare ground. I can further deduce this must be a hunting trip, although there doesn't seem to be any animal carcasses beside him; only his rifle to compensate for.

Figuring this might do for Lisa's taste, I shuffle through the rest of the binder while keeping this photo visible. I unveil several more smaller shots of him, but he is also with William. Shaking my head disapprovingly that Lisa will enjoy any of these, I continue my search. As the photo album eventually turns into regular paper both ways, I give up and return to Frank's portrait. With a devious smirk and a nod of consent, I slide it out gingerly and lay it flat beside the binder before zipping it back up. After tucking the mouse into my pocket, I lightly yet firmly pinch the edges of the picture to deter leaving much finger smudges and trot out of the room. As much as I am willing to gloat at the tank, I won't risk it this time.

Making my way back to Lisa by not retracing my steps to the lobby, I gaze down at the photo inquisitively. While admiring his devil's charm, I can't help but feel somber for whatever animals he shot throughout that day. Upon wishful thinking, I'd like to believe this was actually not taken in the woods but rather it's a composition for a photograph. He's wearing just a hunting uniform while gripping a fake or unloaded rifle, and a forest background was added behind him for completion. On a more realistic assumption, however, I'm not surprised if William was present in this trip, as well. I don't know why I couldn't find a solo portrait of him, as that would've made my birthday gift for the year.

Entering the nearly vacant corridor, I spot Lisa in the exact corner as I left her, meditating away. She peels away her eyelids to gaze up at me quietly, then notices the photograph hooked to my bony fingers.

"Is…is that?" she stammers with excitement.

I nod in response then glance at Frank's image one more time.

"Hope I am doing the right thing, Frank," I wonder and hand it to her.

I glower at her tranquilly as she gawks at the portrait with a blank expression. Seconds following, she carefully lays it between her lap and hyperventilates like she's experiencing a heart attack, cupping her mouth as she moans. She now seems completely exiled from the world, caught in the hypnosis of Frank's stare.

"So, deal's a deal, right?" I ask loudly, in case she cannot hear me.

Emerging from her trance, she looks at me once more.

"Yes! This is exactly what I want!" she brightly replies. "As promised, I will let Owen borrow my unused candles under your half of the bargain. Have you obtained the blood yet?"

"Don't need to. Watson confirmed he will deliver it in a container when everything is set. All that's left is for me to bring the ash that's currently in my possession," I answer.

"Awesome! I'll inform Owen the good news. Now, don't bother me. I want to admire this a little longer alone," she suggests with minor annoyance.

I spin towards the door I entered and leave without question, recalling my previous steps to my bedroom. Along the way, I don't hesitate a prolonged sigh of objection for Lisa's rude behavior.

Back, I return the toy mouse to the table and throw myself on the bed once again, relieved everything is finally finished under my determination and courage. I wonder what this séance will accomplish, since I never really participated in these particular events before. Even if the real Eskimo spirit will be a no-show as I presumed from last night's dream, something enthralling will commence some way.

Briefly scanning through my cameras as usual, it seems that nothing else major occurred while I was retrieving Frank's photo. The teamsters are performing their regular routines, and there's poor Ben still watering that Noxious Thorn nonstop like a pouring fountain. Remembering he and Owen were supposed to renovate the laboratory yesterday, I decide to check it out.

The very center of the room is utterly cleared of lab counters and other furniture that were moved towards the back. All the vials, instruments, and other doodads are bundled into a secure corner underneath the hanging shelves. Currently, Owen is there along with Lisa, causing me to glare at the screen in confusion.

"I thought she wanted to idolize that picture some more before arriving here?" I ask.

While hearing incomprehensible murmurs of conversation from them through the gadget's minuscule speakers, I observe them as they cautiously line up Lisa's candles in an equable circle on the spacious floor. Once they were done, a couple more people entered the lab, including Watson. He's wearing a more casual clothing and he's carrying what appears to be a compact steel canister filled with blood. It seems he's gathered more than probably needed, but I guess it's better to have extra than not enough.

This ritual will resolve whether this spirit who's contacted me recently truly does exist in our world in limbo, and not just a figment appearing in people's subconscious as a sign. It will also put my invention to the test, regardless of the upcoming results. If my device groans eerily again, it will prove the apparition's presence and I'll be able to influence any nonbelievers what my equipment is capable of. I can comply without a doubt if Lisa is still skeptical and doesn't want to disappoint me, which I don't mind of her opinion very much. However, if the gadget doesn't respond, like the times I've spotted the fake spirit stalking around the vicinity of our station, it will only mean this guy is all flesh and blood instead.

The remainder of the group eventually arrive at the lab under their own voluntary will, leaving just me absent. With an exhale of encouragement, I settle back on my feet, slip the idle device inside my pocket, and snatch the cup from the table. It's time to make my appearance.


	33. Chapter 32

Standing mere feet away from the lab's entrance, of course not too close, I can sense the eagerness of the séance about to unfold. It's like knowing my birthday is drawing nearer with each passing second whittling away the less significant days without a break. I throw a glimpse at the cup wrapped in my good hand, heave out a prolonged exhale of encouragement, and proceed inside without delay.

The group is currently surrounding the band of candles, with Owen somewhat apart from the rest. As expected, the stream of conversation falls silent as each head peers in my direction with interest. Owen's dark complexion glows with ecstasy as he grins.

"Ah, Andrea! Glad you could make it! We were awaiting your arrival with that final ingredient," he cheerfully greets.

As I approach them closer with the tension gradually pumping harder, everyone's eyes stay glued to me, unlike my past experiences when entering the dining room. I also notice the weak, tranquil smile embedded on William's face, as if only half-pleased to see me.

Parking between him and Owen to fill in the considerable gap, I hand Owen the cup.

"Here you go, Owen. That's the ash," I confirm.

He pries off a corner of the aluminum foil and inspects the contents inside.

"Excellent. Thank you, Andrea," he kindly acknowledges.

I momentarily watch him as he sets the foil off on the nearest counter and continues to survey the ash along with the container of blood, then I concentrate on my allies who have returned to their prevailing chitchat with their next-door brethren. Curious, I count each head in my mind, just as my instincts warn me something's off with our number. Including me, I discover there are eight of us.

"_Only eight?"_ I wonder confused.

Trying to not make the concern evident on my countenance, I brainstorm who is the odd one out. As the corner of my eye briefly notices the black suit standing alongside me, I turn towards it to find more that William hasn't stopped observing me since I arrived. That's when I remember Frank, understanding we have the second blonde missing.

"_What could his reason be for his vacancy?"_ I ponder in question. _"Doesn't Owen know we're missing him from this? Maybe he's begun work on a project and is just running late or won't show at all. Yet, there is no dire rationale to repair the helicopter right now, if that's what he's actually doing."_

Wrecking my brain to figure any viable excuses, my side vision detects movement shifting closer.

"Hey, Andrea, are you flustered with me?" William asks solemnly into my ear.

Looking up at him, I can sense he's still quite ashamed when our discussion back in the dining room concluded on a less acceptable note. He must believe I am still upset of his deed when he told Frank of our relationship.

"No, William, I could honestly care less of what you said to Frank regarding us. Shoot, you could gossip to everyone in 'Mary' and it won't faze me in the least bit. I am just…more troubled by something else that's slightly related," I explain.

"Please, enlighten me."

I hesitate as I watch Lisa converse with Chin beside her, noticing she seems a little bummed. My guess is she's wondering where Frank is, too, although it's more on a personal level for her.

"It's about Lisa," I reveal, nodding once her way. "I wasn't kidding when I said we formed a truce to keep our…loves a secret from anyone, including our…mates, respectively. I can only imagine what will happen to me if she knows, since she does seem quite the tomboy."

"Listen, Frank has known of her love affair since high school, after I introduced her to him one day. I must confess that a part of me regretted doing that but it was inevitable, any way you picture it," William discloses.

"Yes, Lisa commented her bigger infatuation for him over you, and that you weren't too distressed because you only desired a simple friendship with her."

"Precisely. Shortly after I called her a week prior to our excursion, I informed Frank about her and he reminded me of her obsession. We actually had ourselves quite a chuckle as we joked along."

"That's reasonable. Nonetheless, I'm worried about my fate."

"Talk about being a worry wart. No offense," he scoffs.

"Yeah, I suppose you're spot-on about that. I can be a wreck when I get overly worried about stupid stuff like this, and I know I shouldn't be," I admit amusingly.

His chuckle resonates deep within his larynx, keeping the quaint smile planted across his cheeks. Then it shrinks away to nil as his solemn expression hardens.

"Andrea, I have something personal to ask you, and it's moderately important."

From the tone in his voice, I can verify this won't be a gratifying question to look forward to.

"Why do you cringe so freely over me and my friend? After all, from your message last night, I thought you loved only me. It's not I am too annoyed by it, mind you. In fact, I enjoy the way you often act like a timid mouse because it's adorable."

"I'll be honest, I'm obsessed by both you and Frank since you two struck me right in the bulls-eye the instant I first laid eyes on you. What's odd is you're different people but that's only on the outside, in my opinion. Despite the situation, I truly meant that I loved you. I've appreciated the way you've poured your heart out for me within these past few days," I resolve steadily.

"Is this really the first time you went far enough to concede you loved a stranger?" he asks.

"Yep. I always isolated myself in my apartment so that's why," I answer.

Throughout our peaceful staring contest, his evil sneer slowly returns to unveil the perkiest devil he's ever bestowed upon me. In the new challenge taking place, I try very diligently to keep a straight face while admiring his affection. Each second, however, proves more futile to bear, eventually forcing me to spin away with an exhilarated gasp. My childish giggles mixed in with his broad laughter harmonizes altogether.

"You just…had to do that…didn't you?" I stammer between hiccups for air.

"Mm-hmm," he hums slyly. "I know how much you like to freak out with enthusiasm over my devious aspects, and it makes my day just to see you smile and giggle."

We exchange our more moral expressions, forgetting our previous problems that has summoned the dark, gloomy clouds over our heads. From anyone's perspective and Lisa's presumption, we indeed would be considered perfect soul mates for each other.

Owen gingerly sprinkles tiny, equal mounds of ash between each candle, then he spreads the rest around to create a thin ring inside the candles' perimeter. Next, with his fingers, he drips copious amounts of blood on the ash and flicks some more at the very center of the presentation, creating scattered drops. Finally, with a little assistance from Ben on the other side, they distribute a single lighter as they kindle the candles.

After setting everything else aside on the counter, Owen raises his hand.

"Attention, everyone!" he enunciates.

The amiable buzz simultaneously dies down and all eyes are drawn to him like magnets.

"Thank you all for coming to this ritual. We are gathered here this evening to summon our angered spirit who haunts this desolate tundra. First, I instruct you to clear your minds and hold hands," he recommends.

We pursue in his advice and reach out for our closest partner's hand. Since Owen is not offering from either side of him, that leaves me and Lisa only taking one. As she connects with Chin, William hooks onto Charles' and proposes his last hand to me with a cunning smirk. From his pose, it seems more like he's asking me to the dance floor with him. I happily accept but with my injured hand, which is a little discouraging because we won't actually be able to feel our hands. With everyone shifting into a comfortable position and closing their eyes as if in prayer, I shortly follow along in our act.

Owen clears his throat.

"I implore the restless phantom to appear before us!" he announces.

At first, nothing occurs, not even the anticipated moans emitting from my device. While waiting with ears on full alert, I could have sworn the faint light through my eyelids temporarily flashed black. I curiously open my eyes even though I am not supposed to, and notice the lights above our heads flickering wildly before going out completely. All the candles die soon after, as well as the LED "EXIT" above the laboratory's door. Once everyone realizes the new, abrupt situation, shrieks of fright pierce my eardrums through the pitch darkness.

"All the lights have gone out!" Owen yells.

"Ahh, and the candles, too!" Lisa squeals in terror.

"Not to worry, Lisa! I got a flashlight with me just in case. Everything should be dandy," William says, amazingly more confident than anyone else.

Keeping a secure grasp on my hand, he blindly reaches in his pocket for it. He clicks on the switch once, but no light is immediately casted to fend off the dark. He tries a few more times to no avail.

"That's odd, it's not working. I know it had fresh batteries the last time I checked," he murmurs, confused.

"_That sounds awfully suspicious," _I ponder.

"Oh, Andrea, is your little device in possession?" he asks me.

Knowing where he's heading with this, although I can't help but feel used in this predicament, I pull it out with my only free hand. It suddenly springs to life from its slumber and regains lighting on the screen and its surface panels. Remembering I left it perceiving the camera overlooking the lab, night vision has already been adapted, revealing dim but sharp outlines and colors of everything in sight. Unlike William's dead flashlight, my electronic is providing a tiny deal of light, enough for people to see my face reflecting off its vague glow. This feels déjà vu from that night of my final testing, right before those wisps appeared; only now, I have an audience of real people with me.

"Alright, aside from the lights going out, nothing new has happened. I advise you guys to not move forward, otherwise you'll ruin the ritual's setup," I calmly notify.

Although the distance between the camera and us is making the cluttered pixels on the screen slightly fuzzy, I can tell all eyes are set on me as if I committed a crime. It's given them some composure to see my face, yet I cannot view them through the black void that's engulfed us.

"I don't like this one bit, no sirree! Any other scary ordeals and I am out of here, screaming like a little girl!" Ben snaps in falsetto out of fear.

Mixed chortles are heard from his reaction, which also helps to liven up our spirits.

"Oh…darn…did I really say that?" Ben mumbles in embarrassment.

"Sounds to me you've consumed enough sugar for one day, Mr. Green," Watson coolly jokes.

"Heh, I can see the way you're covering your mouth, Ben," I grin, giggling louder than the others.

"As Andrea said, do NOT break the circle! We still need to contact whoever's responsible for this without disrupting the ring!" Owen broadly insists.

"_Isn't that what I implied?"_ I wonder, annoyed.

With each ensuing second afterward, only our heavy breathing disturbs the unsettling peace that surrounds us in the dark.

"Brrr! It's getting quite nippy in here!" Charles spouts through chattering teeth.

No doubt, after all the light sources died, the temperature has steadily dropped, and the other colleagues are beginning to feel it, too. I continue to concentrate hard on the screen for anything visible that is causing this effect.

"Come, on…" I whisper in desperation.

Some of the nosier folks, excluding William, strain their necks while slowly tiptoeing closer. I retreat the gadget to my chest and back away, losing William's grip. One of my scrambling feet kicks the base of a lab table Owen and Ben didn't move before, creating a ruckus enough to frighten my cohorts.

"I apologize but I'd like to keep my camera's location confidential, if you don't mind," I sternly state.

Focusing back on the screen, I notice them obediently returning to their original spots. After returning to William's side without hindrance, using the camera as guidance, I find his hand again. He doesn't hesitate to grip it and squeeze it tightly as if not willing to let me go again.

"Wait, guys! I thought I heard something right after Andrea's racket," Lisa pipes up.

We hastily hold our bated breaths for what Lisa meant. Within a minute, there's nothing except for a few people catching their breaths and coughing.

"There doesn't seem to be anything," Ben says.

"Silence, please," Owen asserts solemnly. "Please, I beseech you, Eskimo spirit! Give us an omen if you can hear me!"

Another minute sneaks by and still no change in event. At this point, I am beginning to confirm without suspicion the Eskimo won't arrive before us tonight. I think everyone else is oblivious to my classified piece of knowledge.

"Sigh, guess our immortal isn't going to present himself tonight, people. Let's return here tomorrow evening and try again," Owen somberly replies.

A frustrating thought bombards my mind as I may have to seek out more ingredients, but maybe their respectful owners can fulfill that without my consent.

Suddenly, the unexpected finally rears its ugly head as an awkward noise invades the lab. It is not coming from my gadget but rather it sounds more…mechanical."

"What's that?" Lisa curiously asks.

"I am not certain but I think that's the water pipes," William answers.

"What water pipes?" Owen questions bewildered.

"The ones connected to the water sprinklers above our heads," he mentions.

NOW I am detecting a new animation! Some sort of liquid from the sprinklers is spraying all around the room, striking everything in its wrath without mercy. Even the more dispersed drops are slamming just inches away from the camera, which would obscure its vision if hit.

As the same crud splashes against my body and gadget, it's becoming painfully difficult to see anything on screen. As the faint light barely passes through the mysterious gunk as if in determination, I cannot decipher what it might be but its increasing stench smells familiar. With my face receiving the brunt of the attack, and feeling some getting onto my injured hand even it's half-shielded by William's hand, I quickly lower my head and dig the hand into my pant pocket for further protection.

"Oh, God! What is this?!" Ben howls in high-pitch.

Now he really is fretting like a girl. Although preoccupied by the dilemma, I can't help but snort out a little snicker.

"That must be the water sprinklers working!" Chin points out.

"This…this doesn't feel right at all!" William shouts. "Hey, what's that stuff on your screen, Andrea?"

"What we would least expect! It's probably oil!" I answer.

I cautiously slide much of the excess substance off as possible without accidentally activating any interactive icons with my thumb, but little good that's providing as more of it lands on the exact spot.

"You sure it's not water?!" Ben bursts out. "Ugh, you may be right about that! It stinks and the 'water' feels very sticky! Let's get out of here!"

"We must not interrupt the circle!" Owen demands.

From here on out, however, the teamsters decide to act out on their fears. Next thing I know, in the midst of the movement and incomprehensible shouting enclosing me, someone crashes into me. I collapse on the now slick floor and lose hold of my device. I hastily curl into a ball and shield my head from the stampede of footsteps as everyone heads for the exit, detecting a small kick for a second but luckily nothing worse.

As new light from the corridor partially illuminates the dark lab while the herd of people stomp out like feral bulls, I spot the flat device on the floor nearly submerged in the dark gunk. A person then steps right on it and flings it further away with the motion of their foot. After the door shuts for the final time, I scramble to my knees and hand, still hiding my injured hand as I eagerly and clumsily crawl to the electronic. I snatch it and scramble back to my feet carefully without trying to slip back on the floor. Shielding my face from the persistent spraying, I make my supposed destination to the door by pure blind navigation.

Once the door shuts behind me, I screech to a halt in shock, recognizing what we're now covered in.

"OIL?!" everything cries out.

Indeed, our skin and clothes are absolutely smothered, and only turmoil molds their expressions. I grip the device tightly and sling it hard in the air to throw off any excess oil. Viewing the results on screen, although moderately difficult to interpret with the oil smears and my eyes adapting to the bright light, the sprinklers are still spinning. A minute later, they ultimately cease. Fortunately, my camera never got hit during the onslaught, otherwise the next time I visit the lab, I'll have to switch it out for another.

"So much for that blasted séance, Owen!" Ben harshly retorts. "That phantom sure proved his anger tonight!"

"I…I don't understand! All this…oil! This has proven far worse than any of us has assumed! My father clearly declared he never unearthed any oil here!" William stammers, obviously petrified.

"Aside from the oil stains I found lately?" I question.

Most everyone glare at me with suspicion, although Ben and Owen are more cognizant of what I mean.

"I…still don't know what to think, Andrea…but you are right about that," he softly admits.

"Well, the bigger question is how did this oil end up in the water sprinklers to begin with?" I ask.

"There's some presence in here, THAT'S for sure!" Lisa spouts broadly.

"Besides this, I haven't discovered anything else that would've made the front page," I mention.

Now I wonder if Lisa doubts me even more. It's a predicament like this I wish the spirit actually showed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's not keep the oil on our skins too long, as it is fairly toxic," Charles recommends. "Also, those bandages need to replaced immediately, Andrea, before any oil seeps into your wounds."

This time, people simultaneously stare at my hand. Since I hid it in my pocket throughout most of the duration but only after feeling the oil, half of the linen cloth is drenched in black. I can also detect the dampness on my skin. I hope the gauze is granting more protection.

"You're correct, Doctor Benson," William sighs. "First thing tomorrow, Frank and I will strike the root of this crisis!"

"We will ALL find out what's going on. Despite Andrea's lack of information for our immortal being or whatnot, we may have definitely had out first official contact," Owen clarifies.

"Yeah, some contact, alright!" Ben growls in sarcasm.

Placing the gadget down on the floor beside my feet for now, I remove the clips and begin unrolling the linen. Some people were about to depart when they noticed and decided to stay long enough to know what's underneath. I pause, feeling more uneasy by the second as I'm sure my cuts will create the commotion I've wanted to avoid before. I could just keep the gauze taped on if they're not too bad, but if they're covered with any old blood, they will still have to go.

"Fine. You shall witness the seriousness of my hand without any of this," I growl to my colleagues, respiring to calm myself of the fuming agitation.

At least William already knows what the cuts look like, so that will produce a little less attention as to what I've already experienced from him.

The tail end of the bandage slips off my hand and I drop the cloth onto a cleaner spot on the floor. Fortunately, the gauze was never touched by the oil; rather stained with my blood. After slapping more oil off my good hand, I peel away at the tape.

As soon as my wounds are all exposed, murmurs of burdened folks ensue as they whisper into each other's ears. Whilst twisting my wrist to study each cut curiously, I notice the areas around my stitches have swollen somewhat, and there's even a faint bruising on the outer part of my hand.

"I have an idea, Andrea. Let me find a rubber glove inside the operations room to fit over your lacerations while you bathe, until I can apply new medicine and bandages," Charles says, not sparing a second for me to peep a word before darting into his office.

Shortly afterward, some of the group members disperse from the corridor one-by-one, still throwing brief words about me. William, who's on the other side of the ring, approaches until he is right beside me.

"Andrea, I am still sorry this happened to you," he says in deep serenity.

He keeps reaching out for my hand but retreats, which I find odd because I know he's seen my cuts before at a better opportunity. Plus, the doctor won't be happy if any oil touches them, which explains why I'm holding out my arm in a stance that will prevent the oil from either my fingers or my arm touching them by gravity.

Owen and Ben are also the ones who preferred to stay and share in on William's sympathy for my well-being, as if in mourning.

"Not your fault," I mutter somberly. "The recovery hasn't been too painful lately, and I sort of gotten used to handling things awkwardly with this hand."

"That's good, I suppose," he comments.

"I apologize that my equipment couldn't detect anything more relevant that would've indicated our ghost. I despise to think what people might criticize them as junk and wonder why you hired me."

"Andrea, don't say that," Owen counters. "If your device didn't groan as you implied, it more truly verifies our Eskimo just didn't show to the séance. You kept claiming it's happened before and I believe you."

"Likewise," Ben agrees. "Ghosts are very finicky beings, and like us, this one was probably too shy."

I nod my head only to settle the score, yet I am still not so sure about that. Then again, what do I really know about ghosts compared to these professionals?

"Nevertheless, it was a letdown," I note.

They all hum in a positive unison, except I shake my head disapprovingly.

"No, I mean related to my performance. Maybe Lisa will be lenient and won't think I'm a flat fibber," I continue.

Nothing else is said between them to further correct my objection; instead, they resume their quiet sympathy for my efforts.

Charles returns with a glove identical to the one I tried to wear over my hand the other night and an old towel. After vigorously wiping the oil from my hand, he pulls the glove over my hand, yanking it down at times for easier insertion. Once he's done, I examine the new change in uniform on my hand and sigh in relief for his assistance. Since this glove stretches further over my wrist, hopefully that should serve more security during my bath.

"There. That should do for now," he compliments, sounding mildly impressed.

"You want me to return to your office after I get washed up?"

"Hmm…" he wraps his fingers to his rough chin as he surveys the state of the oil-stained floor. "How about you come visit me in my bedroom and I can apply new wrappings from there? I keep some of my medical provisions with me, including your antibiotics. I shall be expecting you before bed," he explains.

"I'll be there, Doc. Thanks very much," I kindly acknowledge, then turn to our speechless crowd. "Don't sweat it, guys. I'll see you tomorrow and have a good night."

I spin towards the southern passage and swiftly trot my way back to my room, retracing the fading oil tracks left by at least one team member.


	34. Chapter 33

What felt like an eternity to waste, I have finally removed all the oil that painted my normally pale skin a new complexion. It was definitely a furious confrontation to deal with the saddened fact that water and oil don't mix, so the soap and shampoo were my only heroes to help turn the tides. It demanded at least two washings for the majority of my body and three for my hair. I'm just happy to know I still have plenty of shampoo left for the next upcoming showers.

It's astonishing how, despite everyone using the water simultaneously, it remained comfortably warm and its pressure never declined, which moderately aided in getting the oil off. I hope we didn't clog up the labyrinth of water pipes underneath the floors, forcing somebody who will require a lot of elbow grease to accomplish such an exhausting task of cleaning and plunging.

With the camera gadget temporarily turned off, I spend more time and effort scrubbing it with the same bar of soap covered in black suds. After a few minutes with the highest ounce of satisfaction, I pat it dry and turn it back on. It repeats its regular startup sequence and idles as I witness the dark and pathetic state of the laboratory. Removing the glove, I sigh with relief it has proven its worth exceptionally in shielding my cuts while I bathed. It certainly was a tricky feat to work vigorously with this hand, to deter any soap or shampoo mixed with oil to sink inside.

Unfortunately, as far as I've succeeded in ridding the oil, there is no way my clothes can be saved. Since they concealed their fate as sponges for the gunk, and it was murder enough to clean my hair, it's best to just burn these suckers. They're bundled sloppily in a lonely corner underneath the bathroom sink, destined to consume specks of dust like a black hole devouring everything that meanders too close.

After the regimen of brushing my teeth and slipping into my pajamas, I resolve to leave the electronic in the bathroom for now while I pay Charles a visit. I am plenty ready for his magic to unfold.

Upon arrival, I find he's been patiently waiting for me by the table that's partially cleared of contents, with my bandages and medicine in their own space alongside him. His dull-brown robe, reaching just above his ankles from his sitting stance, makes it like he's wearing a cow. Reminiscing his thick reading glasses, I can imagine him as an elderly reader relaxing in a fancy lounge chair while smoking a pipe.

Something else throws me for a loop the second the entire picture blooms into fruition. There's William in another chair beside Charles, dressed in a similar robe that is gray with vertical stripes of a slightly darker shade.

"William?" I ask confused.

"Hello, Andrea," he casually greets.

"W-what's going on?"

"Well, I grew increasingly worried about you after your departure from the corridor, so after I bathed I came here. I think we waited approximately twenty minutes for you, which almost encouraged me to go fetch you."

"The way you both have formed a close bondage sure brings warmth to this old heart of mine," Charles gravelly comments.

I stand there petrified while glaring at them, unsure what to think of this unexpected encounter. Therefore, I would have proposed nothing less from William. He truly is posing like a guardian angel who never wants to desert me and will always pray for my well-being.

"I guess, that's okay with me," I say evasively.

William examines my hand briefly then back into my eyes as I approach them. He rises from his chair and maneuvers to the side.

"Take my seat, Andrea," he suggests.

"Um, thanks," I acknowledge timidly as I obediently lower myself down, feeling the cozy warmth the chair accumulated from him.

Charles instructs me to relax my hand on the table in front of him. He releases a few fat drops of antiseptic into my wounds, causing my nerves underneath the stitches to buzz. Once finished with spreading the medicine with a ball of cotton, he performs the tactic of taping the gauze over the lacerations and then carefully wrap an identical linen bandage around my palm. Meanwhile, I feel William's hands cup over my shoulders, indicating he's surveying everything from directly behind. Cocking my head straight up until its rear sinks into his robe, our eyes connect for what feels like forever.

Once fully done, Charles grants me total freedom of my properly-dressed hand.

"Good news is your injuries are healing quite nicely. They are no longer bleeding although still open, and the stitches are doing superb in holding them in place. I detected that light bruising on your outer hand but it's nothing too alarming. You know the drill for tomorrow: come see me either before or after breakfast," he discloses.

"I deeply appreciate the effort you put, doctor," I comment in gratitude. "I just wish there's something I can do to repay you."

"If it involves money, I would gladly contribute," William chimes in, persuading me to gaze back at him.

"Either way, thank you both."

"Now, we need to deduce what to do with the oil messes we left behind throughout those corridors," Charles mentions. "We may need the entire team to pitch in like some community service."

"True, but for the time being, we have more crucial predicaments to attack," William states.

As they conclude on that note, I levitate to full height and exchange my goodnight with Charles as William guides me out.

* * *

Outside my room, we stop short and he parks in front of me with a tender smile. He lightly hooks around my upper arms and stares.

"Is something wrong, William?" I ask, leering.

"No, nothing's wrong. I just want to look at you," he replies calmly.

Although bewildered on the situation, I am becoming more aware of what's happening. The way he motioned me out of Charles' room somewhat hastily proves he was eager to confine us to our more private business. As I gaze into his eyes, I notice how they match his robe's colors, which diffuse a simple yet quaint set of vibes.

Within the pursuing moments of our peace, he raises both hands to hold the base of my mandible and slowly leans in closer. My mind swiftly draws the line and I press my hands against his chest in resistance.

"Whoa, not so fast, cowboy," I spout cunningly.

"Aww!" he groans. "You're no fun, Andrea!"

"Hey, I am and you know that. I just think this is a little too soon for me," I retort.

"Ha, ha, alright. I am beginning to forget we are, in fact, still considered strangers, hence you are not quite ready yet. I honestly wanted to bestow you a good night's kiss, that's all," he admits, grinning wider. "Okay, how about a hug instead?"

"That I can accept," I confirm, throwing my arms around him.

As I relish in the bundle we created, I sense minor concern for whether this is all right, and if he does exert his true feelings for me."

"William, do you love me, too?" I question.

That causes us to unbind from the hug and we stare mere inches from our noses.

"What? Of course I do, Andrea," he dutifully answers on a reassuring pitch. "As you already know, it was your humor and shyness that proved a suitable combination for my taste. Those other women I mentioned before commented on my stylish physique, but they were more interested in…well…you can probably depict the unpleasant picture."

"Yeah," I agree.

"You, on the other hand, only desire a more sophisticated love between us, thus you prefer it one step at a time. Even as you denied my kiss, I can comply without disappointment. That's what I cherish most about you."

"Thanks for understanding my personal space, since I am still adapting to being this intimate with somebody," I mutter, blushing.

"As you said before, 'don't sweat it'. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow when you're done with visiting Doctor Benson, and let's figure out how to handle our new dilemma. It's indeed resulted far worse than your previous discoveries."

"It's a date," I nod.

"Heh. Good night, Andrea," he squeezes me tighter for another hug whilst I remain speechless.

He revolves around me to the hallway's southern door and gives me a final look before leaving me alone. I enter my room shortly after, feeling faint from his affection and the fact I almost got kissed. Maybe next time I'll allow him the chance without opposition.

* * *

After a last minute preening and nature's call, I cuddle inside my covers and settle the sleeping device by the alarm clock. Instead of snoozing off right away after the light fixtures have dimmed, I can't help but wonder why our ritual went awry. It was remarkable how the Eskimo never appeared to us nor created any signs that would've made my electronic respond like nuts. What's also suspicious is Frank wasn't ever present during the incident.

Inquisitive, I grab the device and rewind to a period before the séance commenced on schedule. I scan through every camera in search of him, struck with a stray intuition he actually wasn't outside repairing the helicopter as I presumed. I could check the camera from inside the compartment to guarantee that but now it feels worthless to.

Eventually, I spot him in the control room and cease the hunt, allowing the footage to resume normal play. While watching him poke around at the lively machinery and a few papers, I can't help but wonder why he decided to stay here. Then I hear static noises emitting from my gadget's speakers, taking me a few seconds to recognize they are actually voices…our voices.

"Where are those voices coming from?" I ask myself. "The camera couldn't have possibly heard us from here. We weren't very vocal in the laboratory."

The answer to my question sparks as Frank shifts his attention to a small, black object by the tall mountain of papers, which seems like some walkie-talkie. That would explain the mysterious whereabouts of the voices. He stands motionless until Owen enunciates, _"I implore the restless phantom to appear before us!"_, then he approaches a large panel box by the door. He flies open its stainless steel door, which completely obscures my camera's perspective of the multiple switches inside. He fiddles with a few switches as indicated by their activated clicks and waits. Suddenly, high-pitched wails resonate from the walkie, which must confirm the very second our lights went out. It's more baffling how the candles simultaneously got blown out, but the rest is gradually making sense.

Feeling the rage invigorate my blood inside, I continue to heed the burdened conversations amongst us while Frank stares into blank space. He flips one more switch on cue, and I immediately reminisce the mechanical cacophony of the water sprinklers turning on. More shrieks are heard followed by the stampede of footsteps through the slippery floor. He waits a couple more minutes to finally disable the sprinklers, once everyone including me were out.

That's the finale to the fiasco. After closing up the panel box, Frank snatches the walkie-talkie and casually strolls out of the control room.

"Oh, Frank, why?" I ask in shame, leering at the now vacant enclosure.

As discouraging as the truth can be, this whole episode was all but a hoax in play. Undoubtedly, it explains why my electronic never went off, and how these actions he performed were something a regular human being would have better access over. Ghosts can't possibly have the physical ability to handle anything solid. It also determines the Eskimo was never responsible for any of this.

Several opinions bulk into furious thunderheads as I consider a new hypothesis. Maybe Frank meant to hurt me with those doors on those two separate occasions, and he's the fake Eskimo I pursued this entire time, although that's a more elusive statement. That burnt wire he showed was probably never inside the wall until right before the event of the barbaric door, just to make it seem like an accident.

Reflecting back on his walkie-talkie, I soon realize another critical piece to the mystery. Returning to the camera overlooking the lab, I rewind the flick until I notice him entering. Before Owen showed up moments later for the séance, Frank shoves the second walkie inside a partially ajar cabinet and closes it almost fully before departing.

As I am well stoked to seek out that walkie-talkie, I know the lab is in too bad a shape to visit at the moment and I am not keen on getting soiled in these comfy pajamas. If I accidentally slip and fall, it's another hour and a half in the bathtub. With that option fizzled out, I instead debate who will be the best candidate for sharing this information with. Yet, I still don't know who to lean on, and we just completed day three of our adventure. I also remember the spirit's advice to not believe in anyone too quickly, as I may side with a less trustworthy colleague if justified.

Since Frank is the culprit, would that actually make William responsible, too? This IS his mission after all, and he should take drastic action to apprehend the wrongdoer. However, the two are best friends, close to brothers. Now my obsession for William is arguing why I declared it's a poor decision to inform him, even if he insisted me to unveil any discoveries that's remotely interesting. The wiser half of my conscious is also getting involved in the conflict, claiming my strategy is an intelligent one. I may have trusted the man I fell in love with, but now I don't know whether to heed his suggestion.

Shoving that possibility aside, I focus on the remaining group members. Ben, Lisa, and Chin all seem like amiable fellows and quite knowledgeable in the paranormal field. I may choose Ben because I voted his theory over the others, but he is also an oddball. Lisa seems the most eccentric whereas Chin is the least, but nevertheless, any one of them could suffice.

Charles was the Mayfield's family physician for years, and even though he's been very helpful in mending my wounds, that's the only nice compliment I can easily refer about him. I doubt I can count on him with such delicate news. Watson is utterly out of the question since he's only a chef hired to keep our stomachs filled. At least he has no problem holding secrets for me as he clearly stated, and he might be just as intrigued for these strange occurrences as the next person.

The final ally on the list is Owen. His commitment for the séance in hope of fulfilling any flawless communication with the evasive apparition confirms his actions weren't suspicious whatsoever. I honestly believe he didn't expect the ugly turn of events to happen as they did.

I deactivate the device and place it back on the nightstand. I shift to my side facing the wall and recycle the same flick continuously in my mind's interactive theater. I can only hope relying on Owen will be the smartest selection I ever made. Just like giving my first kiss with William more time to resolve, this will require more insightful brainstorming before I can put my foot down for good.


	35. Chapter 34

Day 4

Waking up feeling more rejuvenated than I've experienced within these recent days, I check the clock and my eyes bulge with surprise as it reads 11:15. I storm out of bed as if an unknown monster has suddenly invaded it and I scan my room desperately. I must have been so entranced in deep sleep all night and just now emerged, which explains why I don't ever recall the friendly Eskimo encountering me again.

He briefly noted I am free to see him anytime I wish during my adventure here, but that would mean his own grave where his body rests. He never specifically defined its location but I can assume it is not too distant from 'Mary' or at least those old oil derricks. In respect to his invitation, it will be considerate to visit him today. I hardly know anything about him aside from Maxwell's story but that won't change my compassion for the poor soul.

Stopping by the window for another pleasant view of the outdoor frigid wonderland while gradually growing more conscious, I notice how the late morning sun is striking the landscape. It is veering closer to noon, yet it feels more like eight by the sun's lower angle above the horizon. The snow blanketing Greenland's lumpy texture greatly rebounds the intense light, and bits of frozen particles like glass shoot the rays out at obscure angles. Calm breezes brush lightly against the double-paned window, and the window itself is still half-covered in the opaque sheet of frost. At least it is more lucid to peek through than the first morning I gazed out.

Satisfied with the heavenly sight now that I am more attentive, I approach my camera device with the familiar intent on inspecting the station for anything suspicious that occurred last night. The footage I viewed before dozing off resumes its psychological looping, reminding me of the most beneficial information I captured so far.

During production, I installed a very spacious hard drive storage into the electronic, as I know how famished a video clip can be to gobble up bytes and I've left these cameras running endlessly since our arrival. Luckily, I can separate the more relevant pieces from the main footage and save them in a classified space in the storage while disposing the rest. It's worthless to keep whatever didn't happen, hence I must perform this spring cleaning on a regular basis before each day expires. I don't want the storage to swell to near explosion and then I'm unable to capture anymore until I lighten the load.

Predicting no one has visited the lab yet today, I can grab the opportunity by the horns and reveal that walkie-talkie now before Frank does, then second thoughts ensue. He'll know someone is onto him especially this early in the game. Maybe I will hold it out for the camera to perceive briefly, enough to provide sufficient evidence without really taking it.

I also don't have a game plan if I am confronted by him or possibly William on the situation. I'll find it most astounding if William is not only in cahoots but the master mind behind this devious scheme, keeping it oblivious until time is most impeccable. Thus, I now believe it's wiser to preserve my discoveries, even though I was recommended to report them if relevant. Nevertheless, it is my job and I have the privilege to prepare tactics that will brew efficiently in my little niche. Maybe it won't hurt to mention any smaller incidents like the oil spills, although the second scene was somewhat forced when Owen and Ben appeared.

Having seen everything to please my nagging curiosity, I set the dark gadget on the table and start rummaging inside my wardrobe, handpicking brand new clothes for the day.

* * *

Ready to vamoose, I am reminded how late the time is so I better find Charles first before I can reward myself to some breakfast. I bet everyone has gouged down and resumed their regular business while I was still dormant. As I slide the device into my pocket, my eyes fall on the toy mouse gazing off at the window. No longer feeling a strong need for it after it served me well yesterday, I should give it back to Snowflake.

With the toy in my possession, I start to debate where Charles could be as I exit my room, whether he's in his bedroom or his office, as usual.

* * *

I arrive at the dining room shortly after my visit with Charles, and nobody is present including Watson in the kitchen. The ebbing smell of food still radiates around here, causing my stomach to growl louder than a content tiger. At least I don't have heads automatically spinning my way as if programmed to or worry about the intimidation flooding my cheeks from the abrupt attention.

I sneak into the kitchen on light steps, feeling mischievous to not say anything to catch Watson's attention if he's nearby. Then right as I enter the refrigeration room, he suddenly appears and nearly crashes into me.

"Oh, goodness, Andrea! You almost gave me a heart attack!" he bursts into surprise, shielding his chest with what looks like a clipboard.

"I apologize, Watson. I know I should've said something to alert you I was present, but I had no idea if you were still here," I acknowledge more steadily.

"You didn't show up for breakfast at all this morning. Did something happen?" he asks, slightly concerned.

"No, I just overslept like I normally do at home. It's routine for me to rouse at eleven."

"Ah, gotcha. I sometimes wish to snooze as long, but as a chef, I always have to stay ahead of my strenuous schedule. Speaking of which, what can I make for you?"

"Um, since it's close to lunchtime, I can grab an easy snack for now and wait," I counter.

"You're right but I honestly don't mind batching up a light breakfast for you this minute," he states.

He hastily sets his clipboard and pen beside some smaller rations on a higher shelf.

"You sure? I can cook something for myself instead. You seem occupied with whatever you're doing in here," I point at the clipboard.

"Oh, that's not too significant to demand my utmost attention," he insists, shrugging indifferently. "I was just creating a list of food we have so I can strategically estimate what to cook without using up a certain ration too quickly."

Although still willing to retort against his swift decision to stray from his objective, I vote against it to prevent anymore of this back-and-forth conflict. He grabs an egg and a couple link sausages before striding out of the pantry room. As he fires up one of the frying pans resting over a stove, I lean against one of the cutting boards to observe.

"I honestly don't mind preparing this myself, Watson. You know my capability and this is something anyone can make at home," I clarify.

"I reckoned you'd be able to without my supervision," he grins. "There is, however, something you can do as a returned favor for me."

"What's that?" I ask, cranking my head slightly to the side.

"Well…" he mutters somberly. "I'm afraid I scared Snowflake to near-death last night. After I stumbled into my room covered in the oil, he reacted furiously and hid underneath my bed. He hasn't come back out this morning."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. I suppose he simply didn't recognize you under all that gunk. What do you want me to do then?"

"Can you try and fish him out? Speaking of which, did he ever thank you for his dinner the other night?" he asks.

"Amazingly, yes. How did you know?"

"He's known for expressing intelligent gratitude when he receives food, and he probably allowed you to pet him without any retaliation, too," he answers.

"Oh, sweet!"

"So, I believe he trusts you enough to be coaxed out of his hidey-hole."

"I'll see what I can accomplish, but what about you?"

"I will deduce how to persuade him later. Thanks, Andrea," he smiles.

* * *

Entering Watson's bedroom, I sense an invisible presence concealed within the enclosure as I lightly step to the center. I bet Snowflake is now aware and watching my every dancing sneaker across the rugged floor.

"Snowflake?" I say calmly.

There's no response of a feeble meow or a white head curiously poking out from under the bed. Feeling uneasy on the next tactic, I settle down on all four limbs and levitate my skull just inches above the floor. My eyes quickly meet with a golden pair glaring right back. He backs away as he hisses faintly, but his stone expression somewhat softens as he recognizes me. He prowls forth as if engaging a prey, and eventually his head is partially exposed by the overhead lighting.

"Hey, it's me. Don't be frightened," I reassure him.

For the next couple minutes, we proceed the staring contest as he continues to survey me. I don't attempt to make any sudden movements or approach him with the concern of startling him. Then, detecting the odd lump in my pocket being crushed in my spider-like stance, I remember the mouse and pull it out. Snowflake's face immediately glows with enthusiasm to outweigh his present fear and he sneaks closer as I wind up the toy. Before releasing it, I hear an adorable mew from him as a probable "thank you", and I grin warmly.

As the mouse zips around the floor excitably, Snowflake resumes his pouncing posture as he occasionally lunges a paw at it whenever it steers close. Again, I don't advance any closer to stroke him, instead I relax comfortably on the floor.

"There's no reason to be afraid of Watson, Snowflake. You'll have to pardon him sooner or later for looking like a swamp creature last night, as you are still his companion," I disclose solemnly.

I am not certain if he actually understands or just being stubborn. Maybe the toy has directed all his concentration onto it and he hardly listened.

Moments later, the door opens for Watson. I smile peacefully at him with success as he tiptoes closer until spotting Snowflake. The feline, however, doesn't seem fazed that he showed.

"Oh, his toy," Watson mumbles. "Where did you find it?"

"I'll be frank, Watson," I clarify sternly. "I borrowed it for a task that ended up requiring its use yesterday. By this morning, I decided to bestow it back after no longer needing it. I don't know if he ever noticed it was gone."

"Oh, he did wonder where it went," he nods, returning the grin. "All day yesterday, he urged me to search for it and I just couldn't find it. I presumed it got lost in some unreachable corner. He is definitely an overactive child when it comes to frolicking with his toys."

"Oh, I'm sorry that I took it then," I apologize.

"Don't feel too guilty about it. What did you need it for, precisely?" he asks.

"For Lisa's favor before the ritual started, which proved a tremendous aid for my cause. I don't want to elaborate deeper into it."

"Well, I suppose the mouse will provide as a fail-safe for the time being but I appreciate your effort to help him, Andrea. He may request more time to readjust to me but as long as I keep bribing him with delectable meals, he shall be content again."

"No problem. I assume he'll forgive you soon enough," I simper wider.

After scrambling to my feet, Watson surrounds me in his arms without hesitation.

"Thank you," he kindly expresses.

I am suddenly struck with the astonishment of being hugged by another stranger on this excursion, as if that's my automatic reward from my colleagues every time I prevail in their objectives. Nonetheless, I am quite loyal like that, not just for the sake of earning their trust but rather I want to help out of generosity.

"So," he chimes in as he unbinds me. "Another reason I came is to inform you your breakfast is ready."

"Oh, thanks. I'll admit, throughout the event of watching Snowflake play with his toy, my stomach was undergoing a serious hunger fit," I giggle girlishly.


	36. Chapter 35

I situate myself on my favorite bar stool with the food in hand, granting the quaint mirror complete definition of my upper figure as if an artist wanted to present me their masterpiece. Although Watson seemed keen on keeping me company here, I recommended he should return to his work while it's still fresh in his mind. I cannot get over my adolescent reaction that he preferred to cook me breakfast when I could've done so myself, but that makes me sound unappreciative of his devotion. My commitment to help Snowflake recover from his fear will hopefully convince him to forgive Watson in the near future, and giving him back his toy this morning couldn't have been more flawless. Perhaps his missing toy was another logic why Snowflake scorns his owner, when it's truly my fault for borrowing it. I know that feline wouldn't understand either way but what if I'm actually wrong about that?

On the last few morsels, I continue scrutinizing every part of Maxwell's posture while sunken into my movie of various thoughts, occasionally snickering at the more entertaining jokes that always cheer me up. When I am confined to any work, it's difficult enough to prevent my brain from straying off to find added pleasure as time ticks on. Then with little expectancy, the dining room door flies open to my left earshot and I almost bolt my head in its direction like a bullet. Immediately, my infatuation perks up to excitement, waiting for that voice to rehearse my name in a sweet tune.

"Oh, Andrea!"

Feeling both disappointed it's not who I hoped it was but delighted, I peek over my shoulder to find Ben gazing happily at me.

"_Heh, he's wearing those hemp pants again. Are they really that comfortable to wear, especially when sitting or lying down?" _I wonder amusingly.

"Good day, Ben! How are things?" I chirp brightly.

He sits on a stool beside me, which is the one previously occupied by Frank that evening. I wish to relive that moment when he and William settled around me to create that median of attention; it's too bad my itchy hand had to ruin the mood entirely.

"Swell! I was about to snatch a snack before retiring to my roost, but I was also looking for you," he says.

"Consider this perfect timing, eh?" I smirk.

"Definitely, madam," he mimics a fake accent for enthusiasm. "I have some fantastic news for you."

"Oh? What's up?" I ask curiously.

"I have the ultimate solution for your hand," he reveals.

I leer skeptically at him with my lips parted ajar. How could there be a process that can heal my hand other than the objection of dealing with bandages and agitated wounds?

"Is this some kind of aloe?" I wonder.

"A hundred times better than aloe. I believe it will either disappear those wounds completely or speed up the healing. Last night, as I was viewing your hand after you removed the bandages, I felt a profound remorse for you and was inclined to assist in any way possible," he explains on a higher confidence.

My face glows brighter at the sound of the uplifting message.

"You know what? At any rate, I'll follow along in your plan since it sounds convincing enough. Anything to not have to wear these darned bandages anymore and be compelled to use this hand for only smaller tasks or support," I scowl at the linen. "I am also sick and tired of the constant irritation these injuries emanate."

On cue, another itch develops at the near-center of my inner palm, which I massage roughly against the rounded corner of the bar counter to relieve it. Whilst in motion, I notice Ben's growing pity on his expression as he watches.

"I know your frustration quite well, Andrea," he complies, landing a large dinner plate of a hand over my other hand on the counter.

I slowly smile wider in appreciation for this act of comfort. After all, I know he has an affection for me yet he's also aware of my love for William. He probably tried flirting with girls to improve his social life away from his plants, and I can sympathize why he hadn't succeeded. He reminds me of my solitude life on another spectrum.

"I can reminisce the nasty punishments my flora inflicted at times and those weren't fun. They don't quite correlate with your lacerations but I once had to refrain from using my most effective hand due to the limitations," he mentions, shuddering from possibly those atrocious passages in his life.

"Yeah," I acknowledge with a nod. "Hey, it looks like you managed to remove the oil from last night. I had to endure at least three rounds of scrubbing to get mine off, especially when I have this bed of hair to deal with. Unfortunately, those clothes I wore for the séance won't be the same again."

"Talk about being on the same boat," he agrees, groaning in annoyance. "I think I still have traces of oil in my hair and it's morbid to feel around or even think about it. Of course, that Noxious Thorn deemed no mercy for me, as it was near dying by the time I was finally clean."

"Aw, you poor thing," I kid softly.

* * *

Once finished with my light meal, I note to Ben with assurance I will return after putting away my dirty dishes in the kitchen. Afterward, we trot to his room as our amiable conversation continues on a steady stream. I admit, it feels like forever since I was last in his room launching a camera.

Stopping in front of his door, he turns to me with a kind and modest grin.

"Um, could you turn away for a second? I don't want anyone to know my combination," he politely asks.

"Let me pretend I am you for a second and say, 'Aww, I thought we were buddies?!'," I moan in a droll manner.

"Ha!" a powerful laughter bellows from him, resonating several times off the walls of this hollow corridor. "This is more private than your wounds, I'm afraid."

"You know I'm joking around," I confirm, waving my hand once in the air.

I park by the window sill to observe light snow now falling gracefully in fat flurries again. The sky isn't currently cerulean clear but the silver ceiling hovering hundreds of feet above our station is not too dismal either. I hear beeps blare almost in sync as Ben pokes at his combination, then the usual cacophony of the door.

"After you, Miss Blu," he suggests devilishly, encouraging me to gaze at him briefly before I could direct my pace inside.

The aroma of the plants that flood this greenhouse has become almost unbearable for my sensitive nose. It's a relief I am not allergic to anything here or else I'd suffocate. Ben hurries on ahead and points at a small, potted plant on the table. My eyes widen at the most breathtaking flower I have ever seen. Its petals cover the while brim of the pot like a gown or a curtain, and it has a gradient of cyan to ocean-blue that blends in so fluidly.

"Check this baby out," Ben says, firmly gripping the pot. "I was in utter awe when I found this out a little while ago while dealing with the Noxious Thorn. For as long as I can recollect owning it, it's only flowered once before, and that's a very rare occurrence. Even with the different brands of fertilizers and extra sun it desired, still nada."

"This is absolutely gorgeous, Ben," I compliment in amazement. "What is it called?"

"It's an aqua lotus. They exert an essence that would make one believe they're visiting the beach, however they really inhabit very desolate deserts where few oases are located. This flora is very important for that type of environment because it has the ability to create water, rather than consume it. They are the reason oases exist in the first place, thus creating a delicate balance in the ecosystem. Whenever one is almost dried up, these lotuses magically restore them with brand new water," he elaborates.

"I was informed by experts it's against the law to pick them, as they are endangered and it might disrupt the nature. They only thrive in these placid havens untouched by man. Travelers have risked their lives through these treacherous deserts in the misdeed of gathering the lotuses. Many have perished, but the luckier fools have successfully plucked what they can and safely return home with a fortune. As a result, these disturbed oases have suffered tremendously, affecting the few animals and plants that formed this unique habitat. Throughout time, these thieves have showcased their flora and not once cared about their health," he concludes on a more somber note.

"How did you manage to own this one if they're lawfully protected?" I ask.

"Sigh, it nearly sold me all the limbs on my body for it, not literally of course," he continues. "There was a specific group of wrongdoers who tried selling the lotuses like drugs and eventually got ratted out by a special agent spy. After they got busted, the authorities were determined to send the remaining healthy lotuses back to their respectful habitats, but none of them were courageous to achieve those extensive miles of merciless desert like those fools did."

"I explained to them in full truth I was an botanist and would love to adopt an aqua lotus for mainly harmless research. That was an absolute pain, what with the heaps of cash and paperwork I had to bestow but I ultimately persuaded them. I ended up with only one because there were other honest herbalists like me in line, so to speak, with an identical goal. I'm happy enough to have this one."

"That's quite a lesson," I mumble, still boggled by what he's told, so far.

"After the first few days I had it at home and started nurturing it, it sprouted a flower for me!" he spouts eagerly. "I didn't waste a second studying it and scribbling notes like a madman until the flower fell off and withered. I was only able to gather enough information to construct a rough hypothesis, and I've long hit an impenetrable snag when the lotus refused to launch another flower. Today was definitely a huge surprise for me."

"I guess the first time it bloomed, it was simply thanking you for adopting it to a better home," I assume.

"Wouldn't doubt that, but I think there's more to that," he corrects.

"What do you mean?"

"I do recall that was the period I experienced a horrible allergic reaction with another plant I carelessly tended to. I thought it was only coincidence the lotus flowered then, but here's what I now speculate," he surmises.

"I've been in contact with a biologist who received his new lotus shortly after me. At first, we blathered nonstop about fun facts regarding plants and what have you. Then during one conversation, he brought up an extraordinary discovery about his aqua lotus. He had a nasty injury which involved scraping his arm after tripping over a sidewalk. That very day, his lotus presented him a flower, and he vigorously wrote down notes while he rested his wounded arm by the pot. Right as the flower fell off, it did something no one would have expected…"

"What happened?" I question eagerly.

"Tiny, hair-life roots snaked from the base of the flower and dug into his injury. He almost panicked but soon realized its true nature. The wound was shrinking before his very eyes, and once it was completely healed, the flower retracted and wilted as normal," Ben unveils.

"What?! Really?"

"Mm-hmm! His final theory was these plants possess a very powerful remedy. Who knows if the criminals who stole these lotuses were aware of this rarefied magic, or had only done so out of blissful ignorance."

"Wait a minute…I now have an inkling why you summoned me here then. Do you suppose your lotus was ever cognizant of my wounds?" I wonder, baffled.

"Probably, although you've had them for a couple days," he replies, grinning. "Even as Doctor Benson stitched them up and kept them clean, I think this little guy finally noticed you demand a little more "oomph!". So, what do you think? You want to volunteer in this? Not only will I be able to witness the same procedure my friend did all those years ago, but hopefully it will conclude my research."

"Well, I won't doubt this lotus will actually be helpful," I disclose with minor concern, gripping my chin weakly.

Entranced again in the flower's beauty, I gawk at it hard enough to depict an animation of very light ripples dancing across its petals like actual water.

"Ben," I pipe up. "I will be more than happy to aid you. I know you're doing this for me and I am grateful."

He smiles gallantly.

"Mother Nature sure has exotic powers under her belt, and we only scratched the surface. It's similar to how astronomers have been continuously theorizing what's outside our solar system for many decades and it's still an enormous enigma," he says. "Anyway, it won't take too long for this flower to fall, and I recommend you stick around for awhile. We can continue chatting about whatever else, especially as I need to return to this Noxious Thorn. Maybe you can give me a good story since I've nearly talked your ears off, I'm sure."

"It's not a problem, Ben. Other than the occasional inspection of my cameras, I have nothing else to do like another scavenger hunt. I will gladly stay and keep you company," I grin broadly, which encourages one from him.


	37. Chapter 36

Throughout the duration of the flower's life, Ben and I continue discussing miscellaneous matters whilst I sit and idolize its mesmerizing beauty. I point out the ripples bobbing across the petals, and Ben ends up lecturing me on how and why it happens. He's right: Mother Nature indeed has innumerable tricks under her sleeve that we're yet to understand. Nobody would believe such attributes exist.

Once the lotus begins to wilt, the ripples weaken and the frail petals limp over the pot's brim. I inform Ben and he recommends me to remove my bandages for whenever the flower decides to separate from its flora. After flooding the Noxious Thorn's storage pot and refilling his water jugs, he relaxes in another chair beside me with a pen and notepad in hand.

"Are you just as excited as I am, Andrea?" he asks in a giddy tone.

"Sigh, as nervous as I am, I'm looking forward to it," I steadily mention.

Within another couple minutes, the flower pops right off like a button and lands inches by my injured hand. Inquisitive, I pick it up by the base and hold it at eye level. Its petals draped over my hand feel unusually smooth and silky, somehow reminding me of those wisps back at the apartment. Even if physical contact has no effect on apparitions, I'd likely have felt something hollow yet similar, nonetheless.

Suddenly, the flower stimulates to full health and tiny roots protrude from the bottom. Ben quickly readies his notepad as the roots eagerly snake across my fingers. As they begin to sink into the wounds on my outer hand, they pull the lotus from my grip as if attracting the flower. Remarkably, I don't sense tingles or even tickles from the roots whatsoever as they continue delving into my flesh.

Ben scribbles words like a madman as he stares flabbergasted at the magic in toll.

"Ben, do you believe all my wounds will receive the benefit of the lotus's treatment like this?" I question curiously.

"I think we're about to find out," he replies, smiling with confidence.

Time confirms as a powerful ally as the skin slowly fuses around the chasms of my cuts with each advancing second. Even the bruising on my outer hand is losing its grotesque blue. Halfway through the procedure, the flower starts to diminish again. It's like siphoning its power into my hand is its ultimate feat before death, and must make each second count. On its final breath, its roots withdraw from my lacerations and it plummets onto my lap, shriveling to nil like a dwarfing star.

I carefully stroke around my cuts lightly as I rotate my wrist a few times. They are nothing but old, thin scabs that can easily be pried away. My nerves inside react somewhat as I apply minor pressure, indicating the subsiding soreness I've grown accustomed to. I survey the outstanding results another minute before looking up at Ben, who now represents a lifeless stone with his pen breaking in his grasp. It appears he's jotted down two pages worth of notes and ceased halfway down the third.

"I say that turned out quite well," I chime in, interrupting the awkward silence between us.

Ben shakes his head to emerge from his trance.

"Uh, yes, precisely!" he agrees brightly. "These notes will suffice in reaching the conclusion to this extraordinary discovery we attended together!"

"Admittedly, I was skeptical when you declared the lotus's ability as a healer plant, yet I also know you were simply trying to assist," I clarify solemnly.

He gently takes my hand and lures in it closer for inspection.

"No doubt, your wounds look much better!" he happily comments. "Have they healed completely or are they still a little tender?"

"There was some inferior pain when I pressed into them."

"Well, the power conveyed from the lotus is still lingering so allow it more time and I'm certain your hand will fully rejuvenate. All that's left now is to dispose these stitches," he says, tapping his thumb deep into my palm.

"Those stitches disappear after a few weeks. I could snip them off now but I suspect it's worth it."

"How about we head to the doctor's clinic and bestow Doctor Benson the brilliant news? I bet he'll burst his buttons the instant he notices," he asks, smirking deviously.

"Hmm…" I purr, amused at the idea. "I could wrap up my hand temporarily and then rip it off in the big surprise, but maybe I'll just conceal it behind my back instead. Either way, count me in, Ben."

After rising from our chairs, I quietly encourage Ben to bend down closer. He obeys with elevating curiosity, and without me thinking twice on it, I give him a weak peck on the cheek as my thanks. He petrifies again as he gawks with a gaping jaw, looking like he's about to collapse on his feet from the abrupt offer in love. Then he recovers and politely escorts me out without another word.

He is utterly speechless to describe the affection I gifted him, which seems to be an opportunity he's waited his whole life. I'm delighted to be the first woman to really impress him, probably.

* * *

Upon entering the doctor's office together, we notice the lights automatically energize with life.

"Huh? Where is that old coot?" Ben wonders.

"He's normally here reading his novels but I guess he's off doing something else. Maybe he's at the dining room since it is close to lunchtime," I speculate. "Well, now that we're here, I'm half-tempted to find a pair of scissors to clip off these stitches."

"Andrea, if you don't mind keeping them then do so," he suggests. "I actually didn't notice them until I examined your hand closer."

"Yeah, you're right. If it was nearly Halloween, I'd have fun showing my hand off like this," I giggle at the shrewd thought.

"I better return to my bedroom before lunch is ready like you confirmed. Before our departure, I briefly checked the Noxious Thorn and discovered it's nearly drained all the water I gave it. I sincerely apologize for deserting you like this."

"Not a problem, Ben!" I assure with good energy. "Do what you can and we'll catch up at the dining room in a bit. Again, thank you very much for your generosity with my injuries."

"Good luck finding that wily doctor, girlfriend!" he says in a fake twang. "Maybe you can show me his reaction from one of your cameras afterwards."

"You betcha," I ensure, grinning slyly.

He wraps me in for another bear's hug then leaves the office on a high note. I don't follow straightaway as I hear him whistle lively as an early morning bird. I massage my face and ponder on a whimsical compliance that he's honestly the very first person I ever kissed.

"Oh, goodness, I am so sorry, William," I mumble through my palms while holding back the chuckles. Now I sense a minor shame for rejecting his kiss last night.

I proceed with ripping off the old scabbing from my nonexistent wounds; none of it smarts as I gingerly work through them. Eventually, I unveil white streaks where the lesions previously were. They still look rather sickly with the stitches in place, again reminding me of the perfect Halloween presentation. It will be alluring to present the scars to any passersby, but I won't like any receiving itches that will require more relief. Applying added strain to them once more, I realize the soreness is no longer in effect, which verifies Ben's prediction was accurate about the lotus's temporary remedial endurance.

I toss the used gauze at a nearby bin in the operations room and store the linen bandage and clips in the same drawer I presume William found the clips. After opening it, I notice a few vials of medicine and scowl at the one I instantly recognize as my antiseptic. I honestly should stop being so negative, as all this stuff was undoubtedly valuable when I needed them, including Charles' effort to mend my wounds daily. In fact, I should pay my highest devotion to him.

As I exit the doctor's office, I freeze into place with the uncertainty of where to go or what to do next until lunch. Then a stray thought forces me to eyeball the lab's door and I flinch at the image of the walkie-talkie. Convinced enough that nobody has still visited the place to abhor its condition yet, I casually stroll to the door.

Upon entry, I gasp sharply at the horrific sight. The entire spacious enclosure is smothered in oil; not even the ceiling was completely spared of last night's wrath. Some of the vials and beakers everywhere got shattered during the onslaught. I cringe with worry that any one of them might've contained something virulent, and hope none of it is airborne. The furniture that were previously moved for the ritual remain in their untidy position, which makes sense as it's now too dangerous with the oily floor to perform any heavy renovation. Someone has, however, swept the oil to create a moderately cleaner path to the cooler room.

My foot slips on the first oil streak I encounter, and I swiftly grab onto the nearest lab counter to regain my balance. I have never enjoyed rolling around in rollerblades as a kid due to the fear of hurting myself, and this feels quite familiar.

Well! Although I am more persistent to reveal that walkie-talkie, that will now have to wait. I didn't notice it immediately due to the overwhelming shock of the lab, but there's William and Frank across the cleared path from me. I'm astounded as I should've heard some response from either of them if they saw me first. Instead, I see nothing but grim expressions on their faces as if they're in profound mourning. William, himself, looks like he's spotted a ghost; he's much paler than during that dire crisis at the helicopter. Frank doesn't appear as stunned but nevertheless concerned. He's probably really here to keep William company, like it's no longer safe to come here alone.

Finding the courage to resume, I let go of the counter and progress closer to them with my weight evenly distributed among each prevailing step. Frank finally looks up and stares at me with the same grief not lifting away.

"Come to see the pathetic state of our lab, Blu?" he asks solemnly.

His voice frees William from his apprehension and he lightens up as our eyes connect.

"Oh, salutations, Andrea," he calmly greets.

"Hello, William. Yes, I couldn't resist the temptation to see this for myself, just to clarify how gruesome the incident was," I confirm.

Suddenly, a leading foot slips on another oil streak and I'm not as fortunate finding another lab counter to grab. I flail about as I try desperately not to plummet on my face, causing me to rampage forward. My barbaric feet continues to propel me at an increasing agility.

The men, now alarmed of the situation, brace themselves for my imminent collision. I fall into their waiting arms and they scramble for improved balance as we battle against earth's gravity. I stamp one foot in front and that ultimately helps to find my footing altogether. As I back away from them cautiously, I blush profusely at my carelessness. That was impeccable timing on their part, as I could have sent all of us to the slick floor if neither were ready enough. In fact, I was sliding mainly towards William, which I will never pardon myself for if I ended up on top of him.

"Whoa, sorry, guys!" I burst with humiliation. "Whew! Now I feel like I just came out of a roller coaster ride because my heart is throbbing like crazy!"

"Can't blame you for the slip-up," Frank says coolly.

"How did you two manage little trouble with the oil? Either my shoes are not very adept in handling the situation or I kept running into those streaks."

"We proposed a secure tactic to avoid those almost completely, like a simple lava game. Maybe we were just more fortuitous," he replies.

"I guess so," I agree.

Gazing back at William, I notice he's returned to his hopeless self, although he also seems mildly ecstatic to see me.

"Hey, William, are you okay?" I ask.

"Hmm?" he hums as his expression livens up again. "Oh, sorry for the rude glare, Andrea. I just can't merge my mind together."

"Sounds like you need a hug," I state, grinning. "So, what's the matter?"

"It's all of this," he widely refers to the oil that's engulfed the lab. "You remember how astonished I was by the discovery of your second oil spill? Here, it's like all hope has succumbed to this mess. I also recalled what Father warned me in the more recent years."

"What's that?"

"He claimed this very site did witness at least one oil episode during his stay," he reveals.

That actually sounds fishy to me, as he never mentioned this bit of news during his father's story. On the other hand, it's probably an unsettling truth that's rather sticky on the lips and I can sympathize for the excluded information.

"Could it be the misdeed of the same spirit who's wreaked havoc here lately?" I question.

"Yes, it's possible, Andrea. Father never wanted to heed the devastations then, but now…" he stops short and nervously looks around as his lips quiver.

Regardless of the probability the actual Eskimo was never responsible for any incidents that occurred here over time, I continue to play ignorance. I think it's what he wants, anyway.

"Sigh, let's not hastily jump to conclusions or lose our heads at this stage in the game. We must be more sensible about this dilemma and connect one piece at a time," I recommend.

However, I am not sure if he heeded my wisdom, as he now looks like he's going to explode.

"All this oil…it's true!" he shouts.

Baffled on what to make of this strange behavior, all I can do is share my condolences with the more peaceful and conscious Frank. He's been surveying me during the short and not-so-sweet discussion.

"Well, I'm glad this part of the lab was swept to create a safer passage to the cooler room, but I think everything else should be cleaned A.S.A.P. What if someone slips on this crud like I did and get hurt?" I disclose.

"Hurt?" Frank mumbles, leering.

As his inquisitive gaze lowers to my right hand resting against my hip, I realize they're about to see its recovery. Honestly, I am not surprised, as they were the first besides Charles to witness my cuts shortly after I exposed them.

"Wait, where are your bandages, Blu?" he asks.

That lifts William from his lethargy again and he stares confused at his friend.

"What do you mean, Frank?"

"Her hand isn't wrapped anymore, Bill."

I quickly hide it behind my back and retain the chuckles as they stare me down both baffled and captivated. I feel like such an immature child. With an exhale to settle my senses, I pull it out in plain sight. As anticipated, exhilarated shock replaces their grief.

"Andrea, how did this happen? Your wounds are healed!" William spouts excitably as he gently snatches my hand.

"One of Ben's exotic plants helped exceedingly with them. A little while ago, I stored away the bandages in the operations room as I don't need them anymore," I explain.

"Amazing…" he mutters.

I flex my fingers over his grip, weakly hooking around his hand a couple times.

"All that remains are these scars and the useless stitches, which I don't mind having until they eventually vanish themselves," I mention.

"Hey, this is fantastic news, Blu!" Frank compliments in bright spirits; William, too, quietly acknowledges in similar gratitude with a warm smile as he offers my hand back.

"Absolutely! These injuries were a darn nuisance and the bandages didn't quite make the situation anymore comforting. Now I can properly use my hand again," I chirp happily, clapping my hands like an exuberant lass.

"To criticize your suggestion on sorting this place out, I doubt it deserves a serious spring cleaning aside from the mopping some of us volunteered on. It may have served well in the past as well as for our séance, but it scarcely has any other use for us now," Frank clarifies.

"Really, it looks like an oil derrick exploded in here!" I exclaim amusingly.

"You can say that again! It sure stinks, too!"

We cower from the stench with enthusiasm.

"My God…this oil…" William murmurs.

Frank sighs as he decides to resume the tranquil peace for him, leaving me no other choice but to let them be. Besides, I can't go searching for that walkie-talkie if they're present. If I even gaze in its direction, Frank will know what's up.

Adding allocated strength on my feet, I carefully rotate towards the door and slap each progressing step down like a frog. Then, as the door opens for me, I hear a hoarse croak behind me.

"Hey, Andrea, where are you going?" William asks timidly.

Turning to face them, I detect the identical expression embedded on his countenance, which displays a child-like intimidation that requires soothing.

"I, um, seen everything I could in here before getting too disgusted, plus I have my usual regimen to tend to," I answer.

"Oh," he says somberly. "I thought you were going to stick around for a bit, and where's that hug you promised?"

For those instances I portrayed as a frightened girl who demanded his brotherly attention, he's now posing me as a mother in his angst. He's truly a different man; a night-and-day comparison to the evening he was strict about my improved synergy after my near-disaster with the kitchen door or when he snapped at me for stepping outside in that blizzard.

Feeling trapped at this point from the impenetrable regret, I sigh and approach them obediently. Next thing I know, I'm swallowed in William's arms like a teddy bear.

"Thank you, Andrea. You definitely know how to cheer me up with hardly any effort," he compliments, binding me tighter.


	38. Chapter 37

"Hate to separate you two lovebirds apart but it is approximately noon," Frank chimes in.

Despite it being only a few minutes since I was nuzzled in William's protection, I rouse from a stupor deprived of thought and time like I really snoozed in his arms. Our extended bonding has deterred him from redundantly reciting his concern for the oil dilemma in a tone that spells "apocalypse".

As I peel away my heavy eyelids to reveal the surrounding gruesome laboratory, I immediately notice Frank staring at us with a content smirk. After hearing his minor sarcasm, I'm prompted to land a soft punch on his arm if I wasn't currently restrained.

"What say we blow this joint and grab a bite to eat?" he recommends.

That encourages William to finally release me. As I steadily inhale deeper breaths to fuel extra oxygen into my brain for enhanced consciousness, I reverse a step while still loosely wrapped in his grasp.

Admittedly, I did phase out by both comfort and affection, and I still admire his portrayal as some organic shield for close security. Looking up at his face, it's thankfully regained some color; he no longer bears the sickly white of a drowned worm.

"Goodness, William, among the moments I requested your company when I was down, you still embraced me like some stuffed animal even though I offered the hug first," I mention.

"I don't always execute the role of 'great protector' as you have perceived. In scenarios like this, even the guardian demands assistance, and you've provided that loyalty well, so far," he discloses, grinning warmly while holding my chin.

Instead of a verbal response, I simply reply with a nod. I rotate halfway towards the door and propose William a hand without delay, withholding the shy person they recognize me as. Together, we carefully evade the oil streaks, alternating the gap between us without straying too far. Before reaching the door, I hear a droll snort coming from Frank close behind and glare over my shoulder.

"That's impressive how you two waltzed on through while holding hands," he asserts with humor.

"Put a sock in it, Frank," I retort with enthusiasm.

He roars in broad laughter and even William's more subtle chortles coordinate in sync.

* * *

Upon entering the dining room, we are soon informed by our colleagues that food is almost ready and we all arrived just a tad early to the party.

"_What? No snacks for the time being?"_ I thought, scoffing to myself.

I select a vacant seat next to Ben while keeping my dear William close. Ben must have reserved the spot for me when he discovered I wasn't here first as guaranteed. Other team members shortly decide to follow suit, like a formal dinner motive before everyone receives their fancy grub. Lisa shoves through the group impolitely and snatches a chair next to Frank.

"You've got company, buddy," I warn him, winking slyly.

Mixing displeasure with defeat on his countenance, he sighs and greets Lisa with a fake smirk.

As for Ben, he presents a wicked sneer of his own. The lights overhead create a strange illumination on his face through his bifocals, causing him to appear even more demonic.

"Have you shown Doctor Benson your hand yet?" he asks.

"Um, no," I squeak timidly.

I glance at William first then the doctor who's several seats down.

"Oh, doctor!" Ben calls out in singsong.

I feel my cheeks flush hotter with discomfort by the unnecessary attention about to unfold. I levitate my face inches above the dining table and attempt to accommodate the contagious giggles rattling my larynx. Even from this new perspective, I can still see Charles glare at Ben perplexed.

"Yes, Mr. Green?" he asks, mildly irritated.

"Andrea has something to show you," Ben eagerly pokes me with his elbow.

Now Charles is not the only one inquisitive about my upcoming announcement, as almost everyone focuses on me like I've instantly become the Pied Piper. Lisa, on the other hand, seems completely fixated on Frank, staring at him like a possessed doll with no other concerns for the world.

Unable to control the giggles anymore, I try hard to speak comprehensively through the increasing stress.

"Ch-Charles…" I stammer.

I lift my head slowly with a relieving sigh.

"Ben and I wanted to present a neat miracle he's performed on my hand."

Charles' eyebrows lower with suspicion as he continues to gawk silently, intensifying the predicament I now wish to escape from. Showing my hand to these people in its new state will utter a different commotion, which I won't mind this time because it's actually good news.

With another exhale, I raise my naked hand at an angle for everyone to clearly notice. As expected, with the exception of William and Frank who's already seen it, their eyes bulge with surprise.

"Impossible," Charles says with disbelief.

The second he rises from his chair to approach me, I feel mildly dazed like I just experienced a sudden fright attack. Under his command, I allow him my hand for closer inspection without hesitation. His hardened countenance gradually melts with acceptance and his frown flips to unveil a convincing smile.

"Okay, I'll confess this is excellent news. How did your wounds heal so instantaneously though?" he asks as he bundles my hand with both of his.

"Ben has this incredible healer plant that magically rejuvenated it in no time," I explain more steadily.

Ben simpers wider with pride.

Charles resumes the peaceful stare whilst occasionally throwing Ben a scowl, either by the lingering doubt of such a miracle or simply by jealousy.

"I…I hope you're not too bummed out, Doctor Benson," I whimper lightly. "I definitely appreciated your diligence within these past couple days to keep my hand mended and clean. Honestly, if not for you, I'd be in trouble with any likely infections or fractured bones."

"No, Andrea, I'm really pleased it's worked out for you," he reassures me, patting my hand. "True, it'll take some time to adapt to this surprise because I'm still compassionate for your health. You must be very delighted to not have to deal with constant medications or itchy bandages anymore."

He quietly returns to his seat without another word, leaving me ashamed of even cooperating with Ben's scheme to astonish him. Indeed, it shall have come to it sooner or later, similar to how I eventually revealed my bandages to each individual whenever I had the tolerance.

"Don't get too discouraged, Andrea," William calmly persuades me.

He leans in closer and holds my other hand.

"He always insisted on giving me my annual vaccinations himself during my appointments, and it's not that he didn't rely on his nurses, either. He'll overcome his envy soon enough, I promise," he continues.

"Oh, okay," I murmur.

Now satisfied enough with that level of confidence, I offer Ben a high-five for our short celebration.

With that ordeal set aside, a recurring thought strikes my mind which I immediately acknowledge with ease. I remember my matured curiosity for finding the Eskimo's burial and William's desire to be with me during my next outdoor trip. I'll be able to kill two birds with one stone.

"William," I mumble.

"Yes, Andrea?" he questions, leering with interest.

"I'm planning to go outside after lunch for a little fun, and I was wondering if you have time to accompany me."

"Absolutely! I would love to!" he exclaims excitably.

He squeezes my hand and reveals a countenance far more content than his "timid lad" behavior back in the lab. At least I'm relieved I don't have to play "Mother" for him anymore as that felt moderately awkward.

"Hey, that sounds like a great idea, Bill," Frank says. "It will take your mind off that oil."

"Yeah, that's another reason why I'm asking," I note.

Judging from Frank's slightly agitated expression, he's managed that second away from Lisa's strong attraction over his charm but can't quite flee from the situation altogether.

"You're all welcome to tag along," I pipe up loud enough for both him and Ben to hear. "I expect to be out until I get too cold."

"Afraid I cannot, Andrea, and you know why," Ben nudges me on the shoulder with a smirk.

"I might participate but I'd rather inspect that helicopter to estimate how long the repairs will endure," Frank points out.

"Lisa?" I spout her way.

It takes her a couple seconds to resurface from her petrified trance of gazing deeply into Frank's soul.

"Huh?" she blurts with ignorance.

"Oh, on second thought, never mind," I blush. "I just remembered you don't care about the cold weather."

"What were you asking?" she wonders.

"If our allies here would like to join me on a little adventure outside after lunch."

"Oh. Nah, not for me, sorry," she grumbles, shaking her head.

I sense delight embedded across Frank's cheeks, as his probable logic for working on the helicopter today is to mainly avoid her. I'm happy that William doesn't find me annoying whatsoever, as I believe it's my modesty preventing me from exerting my entire thirst for his attention.

* * *

After lunch was consumed, we all depart on our voluntary will, and as previously, I lead my favorite, inseparable pair to our rooms. Before entering mine, William informs he will wait outside my flat if he's ready first; Frank says he'll show up a little later, as he needs to grab his gear for the helicopter maintenance before stepping out of 'Mary'.

* * *

All dressed up in my heavy winter outfit and boots once again, I bury my camera device inside the most preserved pocket on my person and exit the room with heightened confidence for the very near future.

William's face glows with ecstasy as our eyes meet. I bet he's quite enthralled we're finally going to spend some quality time together away from work, which is one occasion I anticipated since the first day of our expedition. It won't precisely be as comfortable as hanging outside on a tranquil summer night, but this will be more exciting than making out in either of our rooms.

He straightens out his blue coat over his dark trousers and offers an arm with his regular devil's sneer, like we're about to head to the dance floor or out on a date. I wrap my arm around and our hands connect in the bind. Our stares linger peacefully for a few seconds, allowing our souls to communicate through our eyes before we casually stroll onward.

* * *

We shiver from the harsh cold affecting our exposed cheeks after stepping out. The snow is still falling so heavenly with no wind to manipulate their speed, and the sky is the same light-silver with almost any lack of gradients merging into other shades of gray.

"I hope this is okay, William," I say, regarding the weather.

I steer in his direction with fat puffs of freezing evaporation expelling from my gaping mouth.

"This is not like that ravenous blizzard you snuck out in that evening, and the temperature's not too rash. In fact, it's quite romantic," he states, giving my hand a single light squeeze.

We nonchalantly toddle through the clearer path to the oil derricks, and I brake when I detect the hissing of Mary's door behind us. We send an amiable wave to Frank as he carries his tool to the helipad.

I remain paused while observing him tread further from us, despite William's curiosity for my delay as he alternates our grip for my attention.

"Is everything alright, Andrea?" he asks.

I nod my head noticeably.

"Sure. I'm just waiting if Lisa will actually appear, too. Back in the dining room, Frank was so willing to bail out on her," I reply.

"The partial reason why I regretted introducing them together is because of that. I was aware of her more stubborn obsession towards other people, yet she didn't express it too heavily during our dates," he discloses.

"Aw, poor Frank," I giggle.

We stop at the heart of the derricks' tomb to survey them all within sight. William presents a look of heightened intrigue as he cruises to one of the sturdier towers still intact. He grips a piece of the steel skeleton and frowns, conveying nostalgia like he's been here before. His scowl could depict sympathy or minor resentment.

"Father was insane to build so many derricks within a very short deadline. I knew he was persistent but I never quite knew how so," he explains solemnly, throwing glances at the other structures.

"Why have some of these fallen over?" I ask. "I figured since they're steel they can withstand any outstanding weather out here."

"They were unfinished, that's why. Funny, I had an identical question when confronting him one day, too," he mentions, grinning at me. "Most of these were halfway constructed when those episodes occurred, and when the worst came into fruition, they were abruptly abandoned without anyone's concerns. Only that one over there was fully assembled beforehand."

He points at the perfectly unfazed tower not even buried in any snow. I nod with certainty and continue scrutinizing each one.

My ears unexpectedly detect a faint, ominous sound during our peace showered by the snow flurries. For a split second, I thought it's breezes flowing feebly through the structures to produce that eerie cacophony, but it might instead be my electronic going nuts. Is the genuine Eskimo spirit out here somewhere?

I rotate towards the range of snow dunes and notice how they seem to bulge larger as distance advances, although that may easily be exaggerated by the sheet of falling snow.

Light crunches of snow approach me from behind and soon I feel a hand touch my shoulder.

"Andrea, are you alright?" William asks, slightly worried. "You ready to head back inside?"

"Hmm?" I hum.

I gaze at his resting glove first then up towards him calmly.

"Oh, I'm fine, and no, I still want to keep going. I'm just admiring the remote scenery," I steadily lie.

Unable to hear the noise anymore, I can deduce without a doubt it was my gadget responding to the Eskimo's presence. Perhaps it indicates his grave is actually nearby and that's where the spirit frequently hangs out when he has nowhere else to be. He passes the time by sympathizing his own mortal body.

"Anyway, you want to see the beautiful lake where I found the fish?" I ask William. "It's not very far from here."

"After you, my lady," he coolly suggests.

His tone forces my skin to erupt with higher goosebumps than they were since our first frigid reaction upon leaving the station.

The lake eventually appears in view as we bank around the taller dune obscuring it from the derricks' site. We park at the very spot I braved across the ice to retrieve the fish.

"I admit this was more magnificent when the sun struck the landscape the other day. If that hole there is bottomless, I don't know where it ends up," I joke.

"I can assume it's no more than a few feet deep," William speculates. "Is that a boulder over there?"

He points at the monstrous rock disrupting the path.

"Yeah. I honestly have no clue where it came from," I answer.

We continue forth to where it rests, and I direct our attention to the white pieces of the boulder where I attacked it.

"I tried chipping it away with an old pick I found by one of the oil towers, and this was all I could accomplish before giving up. Besides, it's an impossible task with an obstacle this impenetrable," I disclose.

"Hmm," he purrs approvingly. "It's still strange to find a boulder here of all places."

"Unless this is actually some small rocky range and the others around it are completely covered in snow," I suggest.

"Ah, that could be true," he agrees.

I proceed a few steps away from the boulder to continue cherishing the environment with the icy lake in the picture.

"This is absolutely paradise," I compliment softly.

"Indeed."

His hands hook around my upper arms, rotating me slowly until I face him directly. He resumes the long, affectionate stare from last night, leaving me to ponder if he might attempt another kiss. After bestowing Ben his little gift for assisting me, I should just allow this smooch without any retaliation.

"Thank you for helping me lift from my angst by the lab's mess," he warmly acknowledges. "You were correct when I should be more rational about the dire situation, especially if it was imminent, nevertheless."

"I'm only trading back the wisdom you gave me, regarding my recent misfortunes and whatever else might occur," I grin.

He cups a hand to my cheek, causing me to flinch from its cold state. Our prevailing breaths merge into each other, creating an almost opaque barrier of frost between us. Even a fat snowflake was fortuitous enough to land right on one of my eyelashes. I blink rapidly in the effort of releasing it, and William scoffs in amusement before helping to remove it.

"So, how about we return to the station?" he asks. "I'm starting to feel a tad too nippy underneath my coat."

He implied it like he's ready with the next step to our relationship. He surely has been eager to jump the gun recently whereas I'm still anxious about close physical contact. Maybe he's only ensuring me there's nothing to worry about in that sense.

"Yeah, I'll have to agree I'm getting chilly myself," I spout in my southern twang.

Still appointed leader, I navigate us back to the derricks.

Upon our return, the mysterious cacophony emits again and I freeze into place. William nearly advances ahead of me before noticing my halt.

"Andrea?"

Then he gazes around with a bewildered glare, encouraging my prolonged silence.

"Where's that sound coming from?" he wonders.

I sigh, figuring I better reveal what's happening and leave it at that, hopefully.

"You're finally getting the chance to hear the same foreign wails I did that evening from my electronic," I answer.

I point at the side of my hip where it's hiding. He bends down with his ears perked up.

"Is this how it reacted by those wisps?"

"Mm-hmm," I dully hum, followed by an exhale of defeat. "There's something I wish to tell you."

He rises to full height while keeping his eyes glued to me.

"Another reason I wanted to be out here is to find the Eskimo's grave for mourning. I believe my device keeps freaking out right here like a metal detector because the spirit is nearby and likes to be by his body," I explain.

"Wait, doesn't your device react if it's receiving anything from one of your active cameras?" he asks, bewildered.

"At this point, I doubt it anymore," I hint without question. "Somehow, this guy knows how to tamper with the device and transmit his messages regardless."

As William's expression softens with unity, I realize he's becoming just as determined to seek out answers to this new enigma.

"Did your father ever reveal where exactly he buried the Eskimo?" I ask.

"No. He probably didn't want to sink deep into that discussion since he was still ashamed of his death," he responds.

"I understand."

"Well, I don't mind sticking around to help you hunt down that grave if that's your current desire, yet that'll be like finding a needle in a haystack," he confirms.


	39. Chapter 38

Setting only half my concentration on the device's constant wailing in my pocket, I meander towards the labyrinth of dunes. William and I decide to split up by choosing the two distinct paths carved by the same mound, eventually losing each other as the next group of hills peak moderately taller. I pause in my tracks and hold my breath with brief curiosity, heeding the other crunching of snow subside with each delayed step he prevails.

Frankly, he is correct that searching for the Eskimo's burial will be easier said than done, especially if it has been completely consumed in snow over time. Nevertheless, it will feel like a gratifying achievement to such an ambitious assignment if found. As long as my electronic continues to howl in terror, I should be able to stay the course.

A hint of suspicion shortly boggles me like a persistent second thought, remembering the sight of the phantom at the first evening upon our arrival. Odd, if I spotted him with my mortal eyes despite that illogical nonsense, why can't I see him now? There aren't even any vivid silhouettes created by the falling snowflakes to resemble the Eskimo, which is ironic as I saw him plain as day in the midst of that blizzard.

* * *

With fatigue and cold depleting my limited energy, and no success finding the grave despite my determination, I hastily retrace my footsteps to the beginning of the maze. My cheeks are deprived to numbness and my teeth involuntarily chatter away.

Back at the derricks' site, I rotate towards the dune range I emerged from. Although neither I nor William recommended our rendezvous point before we began, I would expect he'd be standing at my precise spot if he gave up first.

"Hey, William, I'm back at the derricks!" I shout broadly as possible through my animating mandible.

For the ensuing seconds, I do not hear any confirmations, including distant ones. Is he somehow in trouble or just could not quite hear me?

"I'm starting to feel really cold! We can search for the Eskimo's grave another time!" I yell, observing the forced stream of freezing evaporation from my mouth stick to the falling snow.

Nothing still, until I detect a soft wading through snow grow steadily louder. Eventually, William appears with hands dug deep in his pockets, looking just as weary and frigid.

"Any luck?" I ask.

He shakes his head with a grunt.

"S-sorry, Andrea," he stutters. "I found nothing that could have indicated its whereabouts."

"Well, let's say we retire to the station," I suggest. "We can attack this some other time if you wish or whenever I feel like trekking alone."

He quietly reveals a hand and nudges my back as I lead us on the route back to 'Mary'.

We don't peep a word to another as we trudge through the snow, allowing its cacophony to beat against our eardrums. Lifting my head to gaze at William, he bestows the same stare with a strained grin. His cheeks are painted rose over the rest of his paler complexion, and his hair is mixed with white from the fresh snowflakes resting conveniently.

Before reaching the station's entrance, I peer at the helicopter and notice its door is ajar. Surveying Frank's outline through the concave windshield, either he's truly gotten to work or is stalling time to avoid human contact for awhile. Whatever his status, I do hope he can repair the chopper so we can safely return home.

Heat invigorates my spirit as I step inside Mary's foyer, counteracting the bitter cold that has transformed my whole face. I brush the snow from my head and coat vigorously, watching them cascade to the floor like abnormally larger clumps of dandruff.

"Sigh, I honestly wanted to mourn our poor Inuit fellow personally," I confess somberly. "He deserves every ounce of motivation until we discover the ultimate solution."

After unzipping part of his coat to expose the bulk of his tie, William grasps my hands in matrimony and smiles with confidence.

"Don't worry too much about it, Andrea. As well as I admire your perseverance, I still believe it's easier to summon his spirit directly," he says.

Still mildly bummed, I nod in agreement.

He surrounds me in his arms for another hug, then does something I would least expect. He rubs our noses together for an Eskimo kiss and presses his forehead against mine, resuming his usual cunning simper. Since I am still adapting to the new heat and my face is practically numb, his freezing cranium actually does not faze me much.

Within a minute, he retreats his head and exhales calmly.

"Thank you for letting me tag along with you on our little hiking trip. As chilly and merciless the temperatures were, being with you helped strengthen my stamina," he acknowledges serenely. "Now, I suggest we get back to work. I will team up with our other colleagues and strike the root of last night's episode. As for you, start investigating your cameras outside the lab for anything conspicuous that might have contributed to the oil incident."

"No problem. I'll see what I can find," I confirm.

He embraces me once more then trots through the lobby's western wing, not looking back this time.

I remain petrified in place, not for his affection but rather my current predicament based on his instruction. I am still unsure how to resolve it with him regarding his friend's wrongdoing, thus I better keep this information concealed for the time being.

With a sigh to vitalize my limbs, I pursue his course back to my room, eager to rip off my winter gear.

* * *

Unknown to anyone throughout these past few hours, I have relaxed like a couch potato in bed, occasionally replaying the same clip of Frank performing his misdeed whilst scanning through my other cameras. I also napped in between, when the excess comfort and exhaustion flipped my hourglass.

Reflecting back on my disappointment of not finding the Eskimo's grave, somehow I cannot shake the intuition I was closer than estimated. After all, my electronic behaved like a metal detector among that excursion, moaning louder as I wandered deeper into the labyrinth. Like whatever obstacles would inevitably force challengers to withdraw from the game prematurely, I had to retreat when Greenland's temperatures nearly overwhelmed me. Now that I am well again, I could reattempt the feat alone without William's awareness, instead of remaining a vegetable here.

* * *

Bundled in a different heavy winter outfit this time, I inspect the cameras ahead of my path as I exit my quarters, just in case I might run into somebody along the way.

* * *

Outside, I automatically gaze over at the helicopter to discover Frank's silhouette is no longer visible and the door is completely shut. Also, the snow has ceased falling, although the cloud cover is even more dismal gray with hardly any definition draped across the everlasting sky. At least the late afternoon sun is able to suspend just underneath the depressed ceiling of gloom, striking the landscape with a fiery hue and causing any crystallized snow particles to shimmer excitedly.

Willing to find that grave before getting too cold again, I stampede through the snow, still cautious to prevent any chunks entering my boots.

* * *

I pause before the fork into the maze of snow hills, scrutinizing the tracks left by me and William as they trail further within. This sure feels as familiar as being lost in a thick forest, with diverging routes leading to unknown destinies until either challenge is accepted.

"Hmm, maybe the way he took might provide better assurance unlike mine, although he claimed he didn't find anything remotely interesting," I mutter to myself.

Before proceeding, my device starts wailing again, catching me off guard as I nearly fly off my feet. Its pitch sounds more lucid and closer than before, like the source is almost weighed upon me. I spin around excitably in place like a top with eyes on full alert, leveling the snow into an even indentation as if pressing down with a peg. Then turning back towards the towers, my heart rebounds about my rib cage.

The Eskimo apparition stands before me, with a tranquil expression swept across his transparent cheeks barely visible behind his crimson hood. My gadget abruptly falls silent, leaving an almost deafening peace if not for the arctic breezes intermittently sailing past these hills.

My brain scrambles in desperation for a logical explanation to this miracle in flawless formation. How could I even remotely perceive this spirit that otherwise cannot be seen? On the other hand, this does not feel like some hallucination at all. Remembering this fellow clearly in my more neutral dream at the watch tower, he is undoubtedly the same spirit at this present dimension. As I would like to keep despising this realization, when has anything normal surfaced from this expedition lately?

He stands absolutely motionless aside from his disturbingly slow blinking. His feet are sunken deep enough into the snow to equate our height, yet there are no gouges where he ranks.

"H-hello…" I greet, waving timidly like a cowered child.

The ghost does not even flinch in any response, but instead a subtle moan emits from my device. Guess that's his form of addressing me, which seems viable as I otherwise cannot comprehend what he is saying outside my subconscious world.

We stare each other down for an extended minute, until he revolves around me and goes left at the fork. Not hindered by my instincts foreboding any danger, I hightail it quickly through the snow in an effort to follow him.

After enough zigzagging through the labyrinth, I eventually wind up at a cul-de-sac thoroughly carved by surrounding conjoined hills like igloos designed into a single extended passageway. The ground is flattened beautifully as if a snow plow was here, ruined by my embedded foot tracks plus another set I assume it's William's from his prior visit.

During my goose chase, I could not see the wandering apparition whatsoever. All that I relied on were the various notes of moans as guidance, which weakened in disapproval whenever I blindly took any wrong turns.

I wince in surprise as the Eskimo strolls past from behind, not daring to look at me. He eventually parks at the very heart of the cul-de-sac and peeks over his shoulder towards me with a suggestive glare of obedience. As if dragged forward, I dutifully drift closer until he instructs me to stop, then he points ahead of his half-twisted body without straying direct eyesight from me.

It requires my brain to register a second before I realize a lump mostly concealed in snow. Studying its rather elliptical form like a cocoon sewn to the earth, it is indeed unlike any of the regular dunes here. This must be the native's grave.

Then I notice something else suspiciously amiss: sunken footsteps that seem fairly larger than my own ceasing here. Since it cannot be the Eskimo's, and recalling William's set as I entered this area, that could only seal one deduction.

"Wait…why would he lie to me about not finding this grave?" I murmur in question, hooking my chin.

I look back at the spirit as if keen for any sort of clarification, who has snuck in closer beside me with a sustained expression.

"So…I presume this is where you were buried?" I ask him, pointing at the oblong mound.

He responds with a slow nod and stares somberly at his grave. I can honestly feel for him in profound grievance, as I definitely do not know the torment of being trapped in limbo after these numerous years since Maxwell's mission.

"I understand this was not a timely death for you. You were such a brave soul to protest against Maxwell's avarice and pride," I compliment solemnly.

He returns the gaze to me and hoarse moans emit from my electronic.

Then he backs away a few steps into full view and begins motioning with his hands. Bewildered, I try to figure out what he is physically conversing in some sign language as if I am deaf, whilst my gadget continues to hum in sync. Although I cannot translate the dialogue, I still listen very closely to any actual words I can comprehend and slide into possible places.

He finishes with an extended howl like a deserted wolf and stares at both me and his burial in forlorn. I nod in sympathy and respire deeply.

"I have no idea what Maxwell was thinking," I scowl. "Aside from what I heard differently, he was nonetheless driven by the crime he dawned upon your homeland. If I were in his shoes, I would have backed off and excavated elsewhere."

His smile spreads wider and nods broadly, as if he already knew my compassion.

I should not be too astounded if my angelic nature is the rationale why he has especially paid exclusive attention to me when my allies were all absent. It does clarify why my device constantly groaned earlier today yet the origin never became apparent. Maybe I am not the only person he's kept in close contact during this expedition, and perhaps my friends have undergone similar dreams I did.

Suddenly, the air around the Eskimo shimmers like summer's heat as he shifts into a new form. He eventually unveils the complete transformation of a particular man.

I quickly remember him as Maxwell from his portrait back in the dining room. He also seems to have grown to supposedly match the man's precise height, unlike the Eskimo's tinier physique that rates even me as slightly bulkier.

The spirit remains stationary and mute, encouraging me to sink this image in long enough to decipher where this could lead. Then flames instantaneously ignite around him, nearly engulfing his figure. Maxwell's lethargic countenance molds into a more demonic sneer, and a pair of horns pierce through his skull.

His now fearsome appearance forces me to look away, as if shielding my face from the blaze although it's merely a mirage.

"So…" I mumble, not returning eye contact. "You believe Maxwell was actually some devil threatening to invade your home? Have you or your family already predicted this before his arrival?"

He slowly nods, shifting back to his former self. I glare back at him with more confusion.

"Could that also mean…his son is immoral, too?" I wonder.

I haven't a clue why but that latter bit was my prompt impression after piecing together more of this enigma. After all, I previously accused William of somehow participating in Frank's scheme last night, plus the suspicion of why he excluded the information about the Eskimo's grave here.

The spirit does not reply straightaway, allowing me to digest my own thoughts. It is soon interfered by a minor shiver from the arctic cold nipping through my pants.

"Well, remembering your advice the other night, I haven't pinpointed who to fully trust with the valuable knowledge I gathered so far, nor should I jump to conclusions so abruptly. You are truly the only one I can readily lean a shoulder on, although that won't be possible as I would just fall right on through," I mention, scoffing lightly.

He grins again and his chest heaves repeatedly like he, too, is impressed with my joke. His gaze lowers to my side where my gadget growls content in my pocket, and I pat my hip gently with consent.

"Don't worry, Spirit, I shall keep a watchful eye on the inevitable in and outside of 'Mary', and I will be extra careful. I was always forewarned every day after seeing you, but not for your more hostile ancestors I encountered in my other dream. However other adversities might befall me or occurrences pop up on my tiny screen, I am mainly doing this for you," I confirm.

One final incomprehensible message, possibly gratitude, emanates in a generous moan, then the native waves farewell. He ambles to the head of his burial and dives forth into the snow. Afterward, the device falls quiet indefinitely.

I reduce to a crouch beside the grave, not keen on sitting in the cold snow. Despite the very courage that has fueled me throughout this whole mission, I am really starting to express anxiety for what the nearer future will present. With that fake Eskimo on the loose, all I can do is worry for my friends.

Again, I am struck with the rising doubt of why I am here in the first place, aside from the obvious excitement kindled by more insignificant purposes like affection and confidence in my equipment. I just wanted to prove their efficiency on the job and not disappoint the man I grew attached to. Yet, was it right to rely on this false hope over my wiser instincts? Perhaps they never raised any red flags the moment I was hired because I had to witness where this mission landed and the mystery that lurks within. My intuition wants me to right this wrong successfully.

Repositioning myself into another cringe after letting fresh blood into my legs, I begin mourning for the poor native just to lift my mind from the overload of questions. He is indeed my only true ally currently and is willing to return any favors if I request them.


	40. Chapter 39

One more shiver stimulates my senses fully from the grievance of the Eskimo's burial, and I soon realize how late it has gotten. The same burning tone of the sun is now barely touching the highest snow mounds, and vision has become increasingly limited by night descending. Instead, the rays stretch across the underbelly of the clouds, setting the entire sky ablaze as if an apocalypse has consumed the world in flames and despair. Then the clouds themselves seem to animate as fresh, new snow resumes falling. One flake nearly lands in my eye as I continue to peer upward at nature's many glories with intrigue.

I bid my goodbye to the Eskimo with the promise of returning here for another visit, then I backtrack through the maze of dunes.

On the way back to the station, I can't help but admire the sun's stunning masterpiece above me, carelessly straying off the path on occasion. The watch tower in the distance still accumulates half the sunset left, illuminating Mary's solid red paint into a gradient of vermilion, orange, and gold. If Chin is currently up there, he should stall his meditation momentarily to appreciate the beauty.

* * *

While removing my winter clothing and then thoroughly sorting them in my wardrobe, I just cannot shake the sentiment for the native, which currently outranks my love for William. Surveying my cameras as usual, nothing new has occurred during my second trip out; besides, the genuine spirit was with me the entire time even after he vanished into his grave, most likely. At this point, I can't imagine someone of his moral disposition would stalk the hallways, aside from his imposter.

Speaking of that elusive devil, he did not dare implement his misdeed whilst I was completely out of commission, which makes me ponder if it was deliberate. It surely seemed that way during my previous encounters, as he has forced me to play his game by appearing almost straightaway, leaving oil puddles around as an omen, and finally leading me to wild goose chases and frustration. Am I that gullible to fall for his tricks every time I spot him through my cameras, or is it motivation until I actually apprehend the culprit?

* * *

Entering the dining room for dinner, it is a common sight as always for me: heads naturally spinning my way to ease their brief curiosity before returning to their private discussions about miscellaneous subjects deeming little significance to anyone else. Looks like they just received their meals, leaving me mildly relieved I arrived approximately on time.

These people honestly haven't a clue where I've been this whole day, aside from a few who acquired note of my first trip. Even William doesn't know I actually went back out to the dunes, although I had mentioned my possible second attempt.

Perhaps it is smart to conceal the whereabouts of the Eskimo's grave, since he can freely inform the others if he wishes. Now that I think of it, maybe why he never appeared before me during today's first journey was either because I was not alone or he confronted William instead.

Then an unexpected sorrow alarms me as I peer over each person, as if I just received the shock of somebody's death. Leering bewildered at my own contemplation, why do I suddenly predict some form of dread will befall one of us soon? I am no psychic but can't shake the idiotic impression I just became one.

* * *

Able to choke down the final morsels of food I can with little difficulty, I deliver my dishes to the kitchen along with a few other people's out of kindness. After complimenting Watson on tonight's grub, I hustle it out with the plan of heading straight back to my room to unwind before bed.

Halfway through the dining room, I cruise to a stop as my head begins to throb, placing my world in a daze as if I just finished spinning my entire body around. I inhale deeper breaths in hopes of rejuvenating my consciousness, but find it futile as the vertigo worsens and my vision deteriorates.

"Andrea? Are you alright?" Charles' voice hears from behind.

On cue, everyone else falls quiet and turns my way with enticing concern.

I arc over low to help steer more rich oxygen into my brain as I brace my palms against my knees for support, then I carefully settle on the floor.

As I struggle to stay awake, I manage to hear the door's hiss in front of me. My decreased perception defines the silhouette of somebody standing among the surrounding light growing steadily brighter, consuming the figure.

"Andrea? Andrea!" another voice fades as I finally black out.

* * *

I find myself to be in the watch tower again, noticing the sky outside is absolutely deprived of any clouds with no ground down below. As I almost immediately recognize this scene from my previous dream with the Eskimo, I hear the air behind me shimmer to reveal my ally in form.

"Oh, hello, Spirit. How's it going?" I ask brightly.

"About the same old but thanks for checking up on me," he replies.

"I guess that's good, the "same old" part," I giggle.

"So, you were able to comprehend my message even though I couldn't translate it for you in your world. I'm also grateful of your generous heart to visit my grave whenever time is lenient, yet you shouldn't be too distressed over the grievance of my death. You have a job that requires your utmost attention, you know," he clarifies.

"Yes, I know I should be more open-minded," I nod in agreement.

Then I glower over another matter.

"Actually, I wonder if you can help me figure out why I'm here. Lately, I've become increasingly skeptical of my position, and whether it was an educated decision to accept it," I continue.

"Well, you remember those wisps back at your apartment?"

"How did you know about that?"

The native postpones his next response, bestowing me a rather innocent expression then sighs.

"It was I who summoned them. They were simply a mirage of snow blowing through here as you have witnessed more recently. You believed they were the cause of your electronic reacting strangely, when in all honesty, it was detecting my nearby presence," he resolves.

"That was you all along?" I ask, baffled. "I would not have expected you to know where my flat is."

"You also don't expect us immortals to stick around in one place, especially during limbo?" he asks, grinning.

"No, I suppose not," I answer.

His smirk broadens and he pats my arm, although all I can perceive brushing against my bare skin is an icier sensation.

"This actually gives us a chance to observe every single one of you mortals and your daily cycle, and obtain better knowledge than those who find their ultimate passageway rather shortly. Otherwise, we would be tormented by absolute boredom," he says.

"I can imagine," I comply, nodding.

"After my death, I continued objecting Maxwell and his team for endangering my homeland, like I never vacated that very spot. However, I was not one responsible for initiating any paranormal activities to frighten them and neither were some of my ancestors still stuck in limbo. It was true my more…furious relatives conceived various plans to force the mortals to flee, but they never happened. We may detest the callous aliens who threaten to invade and destroy our paradise, but we always tried to reason with them through peace despite their stubbornness," he explains.

"Wait, I heard from William's first summary of his father's story about ghostly figures and eerie noises. Clearly, that could have come from any of you," I counter, attempting to connect the real pieces.

He hums in disapproval and shakes his head.

"What I'm saying is not a fib. Normally, I don't pit the blame on other people but you probably received a more fabricated tale."

My frown sags lower as I recall William's former untruth of not discovering that grave. Now I begin to wonder if he is no longer the man to trust anymore. On the other hand, I would rather believe his father is the one who deceived him instead.

"Hey, don't be down," the Eskimo happily suggests, embracing me in a hug. "I know how you've grown fondly of the young Mayfield, and his identical feelings for you. Maybe soon enough you can convince him if he'll listen."

"I just…don't know what to think anymore," I say solemnly. "It's like I used to believe his every word since he was always so sympathetic and reliable. Setting his money aside for my equipment, I resolved to perform my duty for both him and you."

"Let me tell you more about his family: after Maxwell returned home, I secretly eavesdropped on him and his household within the leading years. It was only just weeks ago when I found out his son was planning to return to 'Mary' to undo his father's wrongdoing. There is actually something else that occurred beforehand over a more abridged term but I will let you discover it all yourself. You will eventually unearth the truth," he discloses.

"You read my mind, Mr. Eskimo. As well as you tempted me, I won't ask what really happened," I confirm.

"So, when young Mayfield began hiring professionals for his team, I inspected each individual to see who would be able to aid me most. Finally, this is where you came in, before you and him actually met at your event. What struck me as highly intriguing was you unknowingly designed an invention that can do more than provide enhanced security for homes. Hence, it's why I released those wisps, to help you realize your extraordinary gift," he concludes.

"I didn't believe of such a talent when my friends informed me, since the ability to perceive spirits was something I never anticipated," I mention.

"You should have more confidence in yourself," he suggests. "You definitely triumphed thus far to even discover I have an imposter. Your life was jeopardized several times but that hasn't truly deterred you from quitting. Maybe someday, you can turn your ability into a job for other spirits who request assistance finding eternal happiness."

"Well, you know my determination to assist you in any way it will work, and I'm certain my other allies will agree," I confirm.

Another subtle chill grasps my body as he bestows me another hug, which feels as pleasant as a cool day in autumn.

"I will let you return to your world, and I apologize for having you pass out in front of your colleagues. Just be brave for the next few days and keep your eyes peeled for any new dangers that might arise," he says.

As he gradually dwindles from view, the environment around me progressively brightens until all that remains is a void of white.

* * *

"Andrea. Andrea, please, wake up."

I instantly recognize William's voice as I emerge from my dream, also noticing the overhead lights growing rapidly brilliant through my eyelids. I hesitate a few seconds before I finally stir and expose my eyes at slits.

"Oh, thank heavens. You're awake," he sighs softly.

His face is the very first entity I see leaning over me, along with Charles who's crouched beside him. Behind them are the rest of the gang, surrounding me like a choir of seraphim.

William's countenance undoubtedly spells all concern as if I bounced back from another near-death occurrence. Then I realize my head is propped onto his waiting lap on the rugged floor, with palms cupped to my cheeks similar to after I dealt with Watson's broken kitchen door. More than half my vision is obscured by the black of his suit, only able to see the dining room door and partially the bar.

"Andrea, are you alright?" he asks with distress. "I saw you collapsing the second I came in."

Could have reckoned that was his silhouette before I fainted, since he was never at the table with the others nor entered any time after I did.

"Ugh, how long was I out for?" I question gravelly. "Sure feels like forever."

"Close to ten minutes."

Then my head starts to throb, like dealing with a nasty hangover enough though I don't drink. With a feeble moan, I dig my fingers into my hair and massage my cranium.

"What happened, Andrea? What caused you to collapse like that?" Charles asks, leering.

"I really don't know," I reply weakly. "My intent was to head back to my room and relax until bedtime, then I suddenly started feeling dizzy. My manipulated breathing wasn't enough and I was forced to sit down."

"Were you not feeling well before that?"

"No, I was fine, and I doubt it had to do with Watson's food, either."

"You being "fine" I wouldn't be so certain," he suspects. "After you sat next to me, you seemed rather troubled the whole time. You didn't even make a peep to anyone."

"I…ooohhh…" I moan as the headache builds drastically.

Shutting my eyes to relieve some discomfort from the light's intensity, I roll my head to the side while still caressing my forehead. William rearranges his hands, eventually landing one palm on the side of my skull and another onto my clavicle. I dismiss my fingers and groan through gritted teeth almost to the point of stressed tears.

I wish the Eskimo chose a more preferable time to converse with me during our brief meeting, like later tonight when I am dormant again. Was it because he was aware of the burden weighing on my shoulders as Charles already assumed and just wanted to clear things up? What did he do to induce this horrible migraine like I drank too much?

"There must be something we can do to assist," William says, gazing up to the others in hopes for a solution.

"I believe I know what's wrong, Miss Blu," Chin chimes in.

William and Charles direct their attention to the elderly doctor. William's face glows with ecstasy, delighted to hear the news; Charles glares skeptically.

"You're dealing with immense pressure because your mind is overwhelmed by specific matters. Fortunately, I have a fix to mitigate your trauma," he says.

"Oh, please, Doctor Lee," Charles retorts, rolling his eyes. "You honestly think that clearing-the-mind type of therapy will work with her condition?"

"It won't hurt to try, Doctor Benson," Chin counters calmly. "I've observed other people's identical agonies when they are very distressed. The body can only be revitalized if the mind is liberated of all swamped thoughts restraining it. Allow me to bring Miss Blu to my quarters and I can help her recover from this illness."

Charles exhales in annoyance, still unconvinced. Then he glares back at me and his countenance eases with sympathy.

"Well, if Ben's incredulous idea for a remedy actually rejuvenated her hand, then I shall withdraw and not argue it any further. Nevertheless, she requires rest after this," he states in the end.

Ben, standing alongside Chin, chortles with pride, presenting both thumbs-up.

"Yes, indeed," Chin acknowledges.

"Can you stand, Andrea?" William asks me, patting me gently on my chest to perk my attention.

Without response, I peel away my eyelids and brace both feet on the floor for an attempt, whilst being gingerly hoisted by him. I gradually manage levitation to full height with little trouble, although my persistent headache is causing me to wobble like a newborn fawn.

As Chin appears in my cone of vision by the dining room door, my arms are lifted and then wrapped around William and Charles' shoulders as they sandwich me closer. With their own arms supporting me, I proceed with the first step.

We follow Chin to his bedroom, with nobody moving too fast for my status. Actually, despite the assistance by the other men, I could probably maneuver my own balance without the fear of staggering over and injuring myself. I usually tend to be self-sufficient, and this is not as challenging as dealing with the lab's oily floor earlier today.

Upon entering his flat, my energy is quickly stimulated by the heavy aroma of incense invading my nostrils, encouraging my eyes wider open and my attention renewed. My headache suddenly ceases peaking, as well.

"Have her sit here, gentlemen," Chin directs William and Charles to the oriental rug splayed across the center room.

After reclaiming my arms from their shoulders, I decide to take this under my voluntary will whilst in their grips and carefully lower myself down. As I get comfortable on the cushioned rug, my advocates release me but keep their hands close in case I plunge over. Yet, I am actually feeling stronger with each breath of the incense invigorating my soul, so they should not have to worry much about me anymore.

"I…I think I can manage, guys. Thank you," I mutter lightly, sighing with content.

Obediently, they stand up all the way and reverse a step, still gazing over me.

Even if I am recovering, however, my head is still pounding with percussion. With a pathetic groan, I resume massaging my head and keep my eyes barely open to prevent agitating my retinas.

Chin grabs a compact pouch by the incense and lightly sprinkles some of the content into each pot. The flames inside dance excitably and the smoke behaves erratically before changing color. This newly-developed scent is even more soothing to my lungs, persuading me to lower my hands and just inhale more of it like an addiction.

Next, he approaches the window sill where a small CD player rests. He turns it on and tranquil oriental music begins to play.

"Now," he growls calmly. "This shall help rejuvenate your conscious of all evil that's corrupted you, thus weakening your body and soul. I suggest you stay here long enough until that evil is exiled from your system. Close your eyes and breathe in more deeply."

I heed on his orders and try more diligently to relax, regardless of my migraine attempting to disrupt my concentration.

"Erase all the present thoughts in your mind and allow your body to unwind. If done long enough, you'll be able to lift from the ground," he continues.

Charles scoffs in disbelief, throwing a glance at William whose concerned expression remains unchanged.

Chin tiptoes to the other men, revolving completely around the rug to avoid disturbing it.

"She needs her utmost focus without the presence of anyone for at least an hour. Any noises like a sneeze will abruptly break her meditation and must be redone from the start," he whispers.

With silent confirmation from them, Chin escorts them out. Unlike the other automatic doors around 'Mary', his responds almost soundlessly except for the fainter, normal hiss.

Outside, William peeks over at the bedroom door as it closes behind them.

"I sincerely hope she will overcome this stress. Thank you for assisting her, doctor," he acknowledges.

"Anytime, Mayfield, anytime," Chin says, bowing forth in gratitude.


	41. Chapter 40

Day 5

Arousing from the abrupt resolution of another dream worth storing into my memory banks before forgetting, I peel away my eyelids and blink lazily. I gradually become more aware of my forward setting as I stare at the nearby legs of a table, as well as a very velvety touch my hand is splayed over.

I immediately recognize the eccentricity of Chin's oriental rug, and the belief I must have fallen asleep during my meditation last night. Upon his return, instead of waking me up, he turned his rug into a temporary bed for me. That explains why my head is currently propped on a pillow and there is another quite smooth and thick cover over my body.

Brushing my palm across the rug intermittently, I watch in minor amusement as the fabric's color and texture change in one direction. Then my drowsiness depicts a vague image of a submarine in the midst of the patterns, submerged in a sea of red surrounded by entities of marine life that can easily engulf it.

Was it necessary I passed out during the therapy, or was it rather an accident due to my illness?

Either way, I feel absolutely refreshed, even more so than in a very long time. I am not bombarded by the aftermath of my headache, and the incense still fills my senses despite my practical adjustment to its pungent aroma.

Yet, I still worry about our recent incidents and other related thoughts, especially what the Eskimo mentioned during our previous discussion. Maybe Chin only recommended my therapy for the sake of temporary self-improvement, both physically and psychologically.

Actually, I ponder if we might turn this into a regular session so I won't have to face such pain again. It will help perk my spirit for anymore difficult episodes that lie ahead and prepare for the inevitable. After all, I am still affected by the trauma of nearly being thrown out of the helicopter, like it occurred just yesterday.

I cautiously stumble to my feet and proceed with folding up the blanket out of kindness. Since I don't want to risk a fire by placing it and the pillow next to the incense pots on the table, I instead set them on the edge of his bed and exit the room.

Upon returning to mine first thing, I groan at the inconvenience it is an hour before noon yet again. Well, at least somebody will understand my excuse this time, as I would detest resuming the old habit of my regular sleeping schedule while still visiting 'Mary'.

After changing into another set of clothing from what I slept in for this upcoming day and browsing through my device for nothing out of the ordinary as usual, I hustle it to the kitchen on a stride as if late for a crucial occasion.

* * *

Trotting through the extended foyer to the dining room, the door straight ahead opens and I instantly recognize Charles' puce jacket from the distance. He pauses momentarily upon noticing me and approaches with mild surprise.

"Andrea, is everything okay? You haven't been around at all this morning," he asks.

"Good morning, Doctor Benson, and yes, I am doing dandy. I…overslept like I frequently do so that's nothing new. I was about to grab that bite I missed," I mention happily.

"Well, Watson is preparing lunch so you may not get that breakfast. I was actually about to come check on you at Doctor Lee's flat, whether you were still asleep or he wanted you to stay longer."

"Don't worry if I missed breakfast altogether today, as my schedule may involve breakfast, lunch, or brunch at noon, anyway," I grin.

"If you're still heading this way, let's enter the dining room together. I am inquisitive to know how your therapy progressed last night," he suggests.

Without delay, I relinquish his lead to the door from whence he came.

I hope he is not driven by the envy that Chin's therapy honestly worked well for me, as this is one confrontation I sure hate being caught in the middle once more. He may seem to care deeply but has shown eagerness for the improvement of my health by his methods without any regards to other solutions that may prevail just as effectively, if not more.

* * *

Watson was generous in letting me grab a piece of fruit from the wicker basket in the kitchen as a snack. I am not famished, but he insisted so I won't have to wait another hour for the tomato basil soup and the tray of sandwiches to be ready for us.

He did not dare ask why I appeared quite late again but predicted my reason was identical as yesterday morning, since I approximately arrived at the same time. I instead cleared the air and stated I awoke in Chin's room; Watson's expression lightened as he recalled my ill situation before I was escorted out of the dining room last night.

I gingerly peel away a banana and let the flops of its skin drape over my clenched fist, then I return to the dining room and sit alongside Charles at the center of the broadened table.

I thoroughly illustrate every bit of Chin's session to him before I unexpectedly passed out last night. I also note that I am much more refreshed than I felt in years, like the therapy reversed a decade of my life and I have returned to my high school sophomore adolescence.

As anticipated, he seems somewhat discontent of the uplifting results but still expressed his compassion for me, as I truly needed the treatment.

"Well, since you do show signs of healthy and dynamic behavior today, I am rather relieved your meditation turned out fortuitous," Charles warmly compliments.

"Thanks, doc. That migraine was a first for me, and I still cannot comprehend why I collapsed beforehand," I say somberly.

"Yeah," he agrees softly, taking a sip of his tea.

"No, I mean it. You were right I was distressed to absolute silence over some significant matter during dinner, but I don't suspect it contributed to my sudden illness," I spout.

"It may have," he corrects. "That is one knowledge I will undoubtedly give Doctor Lee kudos for, as our minds do link to the rest of our bodies physically and mentally on a delicate balance. You probably got so worked up over some crisis, it completely sapped your energy."

"I think it's related to the oil incident in the lab and the fact I have become entitled to unveiling more about the enigma," I clarify.

"That proves viable logic, because either way, you're worried about what your equipment might discover as far as these spirits are concerned. It can be disappointing to find nothing at all and intimidating when something is found. You have convinced us you're no expert in the paranormal, so I can imagine the rising stress you're enduring," he explains.

"Ever since day one, anywhere I stalk these corridors, I haven't felt so alone yet I also sensed isolation from you people. I shouldn't be afraid, as these apparitions cannot possibly pose any real harm and can be just as responsible for their actions as we are. What happened during Maxwell's expedition couldn't have sufficed without a certain purpose, and I can't blame them for being exasperated over this place," I disclose.

"Your heart is definitely in the right place there," Charles comments.

"I have an inkling Chin will recommend more than one therapy session so I can better prepare myself," I mention.

Charles acknowledges quietly, parting his lips into an aged smile as he consumes another swig. Still predicting the envy from that reaction, I sigh with the anxiety of finally striking the opportunity to say something about it.

"Doc, this is very difficult for me to state this, but once you glowered at Ben over his rarefied magic of healing my hand, it has trapped me in the uncomfortable middle. You shouldn't feel neglected or resentful if his remedy was extraordinary compared to your practice of simply mending my wounds, nor if Chin's meditation revitalized me more than a couple aspirin could achieve. There will mostly be, if not always, alternatives to these predicaments," I resolve clearly.

"Andrea, you are right about that, but unfortunately, there's no way to teach this old dog new tricks," he declares calmly. "If it's put you in an awkward position where it is rather with me and somebody else, I do apologize. You sure had to develop the courage to even say that, huh?"

"Yes, since I usually detest being scolded."

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me in closer whilst massaging my ball-and-socket joint. Now I can't help but feel like a younger lass who visits Doctor Benson for her regular check-ups, receiving free candy every time she behaves. He is a real softie at heart.

Upon him releasing me with a hoarse chuckle, I mention my temporary departure of disposing my banana peel before I'll return to my seat. Just as I maneuver halfway around on my chair towards the kitchen and brace a leg to lift me, the dining room's door's sudden cacophony forces me to stop. My eyes involuntarily dart at the clock over the bar reading nearly noon before I peek over the rest of my shoulder.

I flinch and squeak lightly as William enters, followed closely by his close buddy, Frank. Overhearing my excitement, Charles turns my way with a smile steadily stretching his beard as I feel my cheeks intensify with the heat of shy virtue and my larynx rattle with an urge to giggle.

It sure is inspiring to experience this sort of fun again, as it may have only been days since William encouraged the timid lass in me at my local tavern, but it feels longer like I gravely miss it.

William's eyes widen the instant he notices me and he sighs in relief, as if I had emerged from some minor turmoil.

"There you are, Andrea. I was looking for you after I returned to Chin's quarters to check on you once more and even went to yours when you were absent. You had me worried," he says.

"Sounds like you and I had the same train of thought there, young Mayfield, when I was about to go inspect her myself and we coincidentally ran into each other," Charles mentions, patting at my other scapula.

I turn back in front of me and cover my face, trying hard to resist the laughter that continues to excite my whole being with vigor. As I finally calm down enough to pump new oxygen into my lungs with huge gulps, I sense a pair of hands cup over my shoulders and the vibration of knees collide against the rear of my chair.

"My, my, someone sure is in a cheerful mood today!" William brightly notes.

"Maybe it's because I am ecstatic to see you," I stutter through hiccups of amusement.

"Hey, Blu, is it really true you fainted?" Frank jokes amusingly.

"Yes, I did. There's no use denying it," I softly admit.

"Aww, you poor thing," he chuckles, which encourages me to scoff. "When Bill notified me of what happened to you last night, I became just as concerned. What was it about, exactly?"

"From what she informed me moments ago, it could be the burden of her assignment that overwhelmed her," Charles replies. "After all, it doesn't seem as easy as expected."

"No, it isn't, but I know for a fact she's a courageous woman and can carry on such an ominous responsibility no one else would on her spot," William praises.

"Thanks, William. I sure could use the support," I mutter.

"Does that mean you found our wandering spirit again?" Frank asks me.

"Uh, no, not yet. I am still browsing through all the captured footage for any connections to the oil incident as ordered, and so far, I have found nothing suspicious," I disclose, giving everyone a disappointing glare. "I'm sorry if that doesn't sound useful."

There's a slight shuffling from behind and William occupies the only other seat alongside me. He reaches out to caress my resting hand on the table, nearly blanketing it with his.

"Andrea, don't be discouraged if you feel your effort is in vain, because it's not. I have faith you will encounter something sooner or later. You always had the surefire confidence that your invention is quite capable, thus I believe in you. I presumed this was a no walk in the park so don't give up prematurely, not at this stage in the game. You honestly have been a tremendous asset to the team with your recent findings of our target apparition, though I will say you haven't presented anything yet," he explains.

"I suppose I am still uncomfortable bestowing that information. If you really want me to, I could transfer the relevant video clips I saved and let you digest them on your own time," I say.

"I am not insisting you should; however, I will be grateful if you wish to contribute. It's not that I doubt your report on our wily spirit either, but rather my curiosity is itching for more. I am moderately eager to observe it with my own eyes than to just hear it from other witnesses," he grins.

"That's fine, I will not repress it any longer. If Frank has a laptop, he can connect with my device and take those clips. Maybe even turn them into a small presentation for other inquisitive fellows to see," I suggest.

"It will not be a problem. Since our room is still "off-limits", so to speak, we can go to yours and initiate the transfer there," Frank confirms.

This time, I don't even shudder at the image of the tank, since my last experience flowed much smoother with that toy mouse engaging on the waltz instead. Even if I "borrowed" it from Snowflake for no other reason than what my intuition recommended, it was thoughtful of the feline to be seemingly tolerant enough. Then I could only smile at the brief flashback of him faring better once I gave him his toy back, though he is probably still fidgety over his owner on the oily matter. That cat is more human than we could imagine.


	42. Chapter 41

Wow, talk about another tremendously scrumptious lunch – or more so I was quite famished because it's my first meal of the day. Even that whole banana I ate was merely an appetizer despite it being the largest one I picked from Watson's fruit basket. Either way, the main course was delectable, as it has been awhile since I last had a serving of tomato-basil soup, and those bite-sized sandwiches tasted like they just arrived fresh from a deli shop.

Therefore, I devoured my food at a ravenous pace while those around me only managed to accomplish about halfway, although their chitchat was partially why for the delay. I received extensive gawking and remarks from my neighboring brethren about how I can thoroughly clean out a plate with barely any food crumbs left in sight.

I have always lived in isolation in other apartments before, but I adjusted to my own neat etiquette as if I do have a roommate to show my proper manners. My bedroom at home would make that statement dip into an undeniable fib, however.

After everyone else entered the dining room and helped themselves to their lunch portion, poor Frank was soon trapped in another predicament when Lisa readily occupied the other dining chair alongside him. I can decipher from the negative expression on his countenance that he wasn't willing to lock in eye contact with her, and he would attempt to show a tolerable level of tranquility as she blabbed away about baloney. He constantly threw hopeless gazes at me, as if I am supposed to know how to mitigate the situation but didn't want to make it seem too conspicuous.

I appreciate his effort in respect regarding my concern of somewhat exposing Lisa's secret the other day, as there is currently a chance she could criticize me with distrust. I honestly cannot understand why I am perceiving her as some overactive monster, yet I have dealt with people like her on an upsetting note in the past. I ended up developing some grudge against them.

Instead, I should concede to the brighter side of things that we can indeed become best friends and form a small femme fatale group for fun while we're here. We could even host a sleepover and get involved in some "Truth or Dare", which I haven't done in years due to my seclusion from any friends.

* * *

Once the other teamsters have finished eating and delivered their used dishes to the kitchen, some have departed to resume their daily duties while the rest decided to stay at the dining room a tad longer. That leaves me, Charles, William, and Chin present, surrounding me in a practically perfect middle at the table. William continues to massage my hand that is now splayed over my lap, allowing him the advantage to inspect every curvature of my slender phalanges and eventually up to my wrist, bracing it firmly like a handcuff.

Moments later into our peace, I notice Chin from my side vision rising from his chair, groaning feebly as he struggles against earth's gravity. I watch him curiously as he approaches me, landing a hand on my shoulder as he smiles.

"My dear, mind if we discuss our personal matter at the watch tower?" he asks.

"Um…" I hum hesitantly.

I alternate glances between William and Charles, as if seeking confirmation to leave with the elderly doctor – and judging from their serene expressions, neither seem to have a problem.

"I won't mind," I reply.

Before vacating my seat, I turn to William with the enthusiasm to view his face once more, as I may not see him again for the remainder of the day depending on our individual schedule. With a reassuring sigh, I shift towards the direction of the door and momentarily observe Chin exiting the dining area on a casual march. Then I detect fingers from behind and they softly grab my chin, steering me back at William. Without response, he reveals another smooth smirk and leans in closer to give me one more Eskimo kiss, which I gladly approve. We gaze into each other's eyes briefly until he releases me and I finally stand to pursue the doctor.

* * *

Despite of Chin's turtle's pace compared to my broader trot, I patiently follow him close behind through the segmented passageway to the tower. After entering the reverse L-shaped corridor, I monitor him as he ascends the ladder first, cautiously planting each foot onto an advancing rung since his sandals don't appear very capable of such a feat without slipping. I soon begin my progression once he has achieved a few feet up.

While forced to hesitate by his impeding rate, I spare this extra time to peek through each row of windows once at an accurate eyelevel. The sky today is very clear and elegant without a pitiful cloud around, granting the lowly-risen sun to strike the snow dunes with a moderate intensity. Through the column of windows behind me, I can see not only the oil derricks beyond the station but gradually part of the icy lake I visited. That's when I also spot an outstanding range of mountains in the vast distance, enlightening my level of intrigue as to what really lies ahead of that boulder barricading the path.

One of my feet unexpectedly slides off a rung as I am compelled to stop by the abrupt confusion triggered by my own instincts. I look down below me, sensing fear from not the upright drop of the increasingly remote floor but the familiar disturbance that I, or in this case we, are now not alone here. I previously explained to Charles my concern of never feeling completely isolated by the possible spirits lurking about this place no matter where I went, but at the same time, I anticipated utter loneliness like my living friends have all abandoned me. Then remembering my immortal ally quickly reminds me of his faux counterpart, causing me to scowl at the certainty he may not presently be too far. I briefly gaze straight up to watch Chin nearly reaching the top, before sighing to myself and moving on.

Once at the tower's balcony, Chin moves away from my perception as he eventually sets both feet on its wooden surface. As my eyesight gradually appears above the floor a minute later, I notice him already sitting Indian-style with his eyes closed as if he's about to start another of his subtle contemplations. He peels away one eyelid partly and shifts his gaze my way.

"Please, have a seat," he calmly suggests.

I revolve around him in front and obediently lower myself on the floor in an identical posture. I lean forth with arms perched over my knees, inquisitive like a child blissful to hear his or her grandfather's priceless stories.

"How are you faring, overall? Did the therapy turn out well?" he asks, unveiling both eyes.

"Oh, absolutely!" I reply happily. "After I woke up this morning, for once in years, I never felt lazy or exhausted from sleep whatsoever. That headache eased away and the weight on my shoulders is not so overwhelming."

"That's fabulous. I'm jubilant to hear that outcome," he smiles widely.

"Hey, you were simply trying to help, and whether or not it would have worked as intended, I'd commend you for your virtue," I comment, returning the grin. "Everything you people did for me within these past few days have been nothing short of a moral act out of kindness, and I always wished to somehow repay you all. I really wouldn't have desired much, otherwise."

"My dear, it isn't necessary to stumble heedlessly whenever you need assistance," he notes, cocking an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, are you still rather startled as far as your discoveries have intervened?"

"I am. In fact, only a moment ago, I sensed something just went amiss here, and I can't quite put my finger on what, where, or why," I answer, nervously scanning around the balcony.

"Your body may have been invigorated today, but I highly recommend more of this mental treatment if you are to overcome this trauma. We should set up an hourly session daily whenever you're available and repeat those same phases until the result becomes more permanent. I fear that your mind is still crippled by the evil that consumed your consciousness last night and sapped your energy after recovery, hence the migraine. I want to aid you in ridding that evil for good," he insists, staring dead-center into my eyes.

"Chin, I appreciate your commitment but how will it benefit me in the near future when anymore paranormal episodes arise? I must be brave for the ugly inevitable when it does emerge," I ask.

"I understand, Miss Blu. Nevertheless, it won't hurt to cleanse the mind of other corrupted experiences you have encountered – to strengthen your senses for when dealing with these ghosts. I'm afraid I will not take 'no' for a remark," he says, blinking slowly like a lax bovine.

"I wasn't going to decline your idea, Doctor Lee. When do you think is a suitable time for me to come on a normal basis?"

"Since last night's therapy occurred on the most peaceful hour before bedtime, how about you arrive at the same opportunity tonight? I assume you won't accidentally fall asleep this time," he winks.

"You know how these lessons roll better than me so I can't guarantee I'll discipline myself awake before they end," I mutter timidly, looking away.

He then starts to chuckle deep within his chest, so hoarse like an old bullfrog croaking into the night.

"During my slightly younger years of instructing apprentices your age, they mostly collapsed into unnecessary rest before their therapies were fully resolved. I used to ring the gong to rouse them so their lessons can resume without wasting their lives away, but I later realized that even a reduced nap coincided very well with this particular session. Students would become more revitalized than plain sleep has ever managed for them, as according to their essays on the experiment. Thus, I rearranged their class agenda so this therapy can occur earlier in the day – to allow them an additional hour for especially those who didn't actually fall asleep," he explains, baring a toothy smirk as he shakes his head.

"I can make it tonight, Doc," I confirm.

"Very well. I shall arrange some materials to get your next lesson prepared later on, and I like the confidence emitted in your voice. You're now free to go," he concludes, implying the end of our meeting.

I mumble in acceptance and ascend to full height, immediately mesmerized by the glory of earth's subzero environment outside. Leaning against the window sill overlooking 'Mary' and perceiving the hazy silhouette of the mountain range far ahead, I continue to ponder the mystery of where that path spans after that massive rock.

As I hear Chin growl low in contentment behind me while undergoing his meditation, I am suddenly struck by the recurring anxiety of my intuition's suspicion from a little while ago. I peek over to view the elderly doctor then raise my gaze at the single camera surveying us. I tiptoe towards the ladder, careful to not accidentally disturb him with any obnoxious noise whether it'd be a creak of the wooden surface or a loud squeak from one of my sneakers. Grabbing hold of the ladder, I hover my skull over the sheer drop that somehow stretches away farther the longer I linger, causing a minor swirl of dizziness.

An idea reveals itself in the spotlight and I pull out my electronic to check the other cameras near our location below. Within a minute of scanning through the last few moments of footage from each camera, I eventually spot someone appearing out of the inaccessible room connected to the L-shaped corridor and swiftly recognize the fake Eskimo spirit. Reading the time displayed on the gadget's screen, I realize this clip is currently ten seconds behind on the actual time and my eyes widen. Instead of heading for the ladder as I envisioned out of fear, he takes the only other door to the first hallway.

"Doctor Lee, I think I finally discovered something," I say, loud enough for him to hear.

Turning to face him, he doesn't show any awareness to my news as his limbs are still petrified as stone and his heavy breathing remains unaltered. I sigh in disappointment for his lack of support, tempted to shake him loose but decided against it altogether. Now I am determined to catch this elusive culprit, though I am certain I will wind up in another goose chase and miss him entirely.


	43. Chapter 42

The instant I stamp both sneakers on the rugged steel floor from the foot of the ladder, my ears detect the suppressed noise of a door's animation nearby and my body petrifies at the déjà vu pinning my nerves. The present hour, however, is at broad daylight and not the dead of night, so it could easily be a more familiar and welcoming body just passing through on a casual note.

Although I wished Chin humored me on the rising situation of this novel discovery, I reluctantly decided to leave him in peace at the tower's balcony. I crank my skull straight up at the vertical shaft and stiffen my neck for extra support as I stare apathetically, soon to be pestered by a new insight requiring attention.

Would it be wise to pursue the spirit as I am about to undertake, or should I stick close enough to Chin? I admit that deserting him alone up there has compromised his safety, and even if he acquired any finesse in martial arts in the past, he probably doesn't have the stamina to defend himself due to his geriatric age. On the other hand, I am not at all worried that any genuine apparitions will appear to frighten him to death.

With my back against the ladder rungs, I pull out my electronic once more and proceed to follow the Eskimo with my cameras. After achieving halfway through the extended hallway to the four-way corridor, I lose track of him completely just before the final camera.

"Ugh, again?!" I snap in frustration, although I predicted his shenanigan this time.

To reassure myself, I revert to the previous camera overlooking the enlarged map of 'Mary'. The second he's spotted from the right of the screen, I switch back to the later camera where he became devoid of sight and sound.

I deliver the remainder of my weight onto my waiting feet, now ambitious to confront the scene as a true witness. My conscious quickly fixes my sneakers to the floor as if plastering them with cement. I know I mustn't abandon Chin from this perfect position, as I am guarding the only way to him. Frankly, I cannot accomplish both tasks simultaneously.

I'd much rather shake him awake from his addictive stupor and instruct him close to me – like two comrades coerced to stick together to avoid an overwhelming surprise. I would advise these critical orders mainly for the sake of securing lives as possible, yet it would be boring as hell to babysit the old man as he continually whittles his hours away with meditation. Somebody else may have fallen into jeopardy with the Eskimo after I lost him, even though he has not been proven an actual threat so far.

An identical hissing from another door blares through my gadget's speakers, diverting my attention from the stern discussion with my instincts. A person walks gradually into camera-view with two more companions close behind, and I frown slightly at the recognition of Owen, Lisa, and Charles. As they park within the cone of vision, they form an equal group triangle; Lisa stands at the vertex that allows her to face the camera's location precisely. Fortunately, I sense only an expression of ignorance that lacks any suspicion or anxiety over the penny-sized camera staring back.

Owen first sparks the conversation with a question, which I immediately realize refers to the oil incident from the other night. Lisa interrupts him by blatantly enunciating her utter disbelief over the probable occurrences, including those of paranormal activity. Charles remains quiet as a mouse while the other two continue their dispute, grunting occasionally on any level of compliance or not. He apparently seems more open to whatever speculation could link to how the event rolled so unknowingly – inquisitive to piece together the puzzle by gaining more expertise on the matter. After all, he is merely a family physician with no experience on the supernatural.

I suppose it makes sense why the trio elected to host their meeting here, as this hallway hardly ever clogs with traffic except when Chin stumbles to and from the watch tower. I assume they would promote any of their bedrooms as a temporary conference room for this necessary seclusion. However, I seriously doubt the men would appreciate Lisa's as I, myself, nearly suffocated from the pungent aroma of chemicals from her hair sprays and whatnot. Maybe Owen has some important business at his leisure and prefers none of it be disturbed, and Charles feels the same about his bundle of foreign medicines and specimens. I do admit I am committing a sin by eavesdropping on them but what they're debating is nothing new; in fact, this deserves an audience of the entire team rather than these three.

My train of thought is cut short when I hear Charles mention my name to his colleagues. Lisa and Owen glare at him momentarily then exchange each other looks of skepticism and concern. My heart throbs at the upcoming criticism, knowing this doesn't sound very promising.

Owen initially confirms on a more positive note my equipment never actually disclosed any spirits, even when we were imprisoned in darkness after the lights went out. Lisa follows up on her suspicion I wasn't being totally honest with everyone and that my cameras were faulty, which Owen counters by claiming they seemed quite legit when he inspected them on our way to Greenland.

My grimace sags further and I sigh in disappointment despite Owen's faith, rekindling my former doubt on what my true purpose is here. I really can't blame Lisa for pointing the finger at me, as I indeed failed in my mission to expose any immortals and resolve the enigma behind the bleak episode as well as the oil in the sprinklers. Then reflecting on the faux Eskimo constantly eluding my cameras at the most crucial instances, I can only wonder if she's right. Moments ago, I was ecstatic to storm through that hallway to investigate more on the Eskimo's disappearance, but now it would be humiliating to ask the trio if they have seen him. They would think I've gone loony.

My thumb, hovering just barely over the interactive screen, twitches and lands on the left-arrow icon, causing the picture to shift to the next camera observing the intersecting corridor. Looking down curiously, my eyes swell at the presence of the Eskimo impostor standing right outside the control room, staring intently at the northern access across from him. He alternates gazes between the remaining doors, ultimately locking onto the eastern entryway. He gently pats over some solid bulge inside his jacket pocket and sneaks toward the door.

Without any hesitation to allow my conscious to stop me once again, I kick my feet into high gear and start trotting. Those guys must be warned of the imminent attack before it's too late.

Upon entering the lengthy hallway, I halt prematurely in my tracks when I notice the Eskimo has not arrived from the opposite end yet. Instead, the trio are still consulting away like nothing has happened aside from my hurried entrance. Baffled, I can only guess this is another of the impostor's tricks and quickly check my device to ensure this new theory.

The group eventually finds a reasonable stopping point from their conversation and shift their attention in my direction.

"Hello again, Andrea. What's with the bewildered look?" Charles asks calmly.

Luckily, he and the others don't seem too bothered that I intruded their private business like this.

Unable to reply with any verbal response, I lift my glare at the stationary door mere feet behind them then back on the miniature screen. I express even more confusion when I realize the Eskimo, who parked himself by the eastern access moments before, has vanished. I rapidly scan through the control room and the other hallways connected to the four-way enclosure, believing he's either retreated back into hiding or decided to resume his way about the station. However, he has left another mark: a small puddle of oil at the heart of the corridor.

"Great, where could that bastard be now?" I grumble in annoyance.

My heart suddenly hardens into stone and plummets to the bottom of my stomach. Reality slaps me square across the face, reminding me I achieved the grave mistake of vacating my spot at the base of the ladder. Fearing the worst for Chin, which could also pose a hint for the Eskimo's sudden disappearance, I hastily tap the other arrow icon through the previously viewed cameras. I stop early on the camera giving an enhanced perspective of the ladder from between the two doors, gasping sharply at the new image before me.

"Doctor Lee!" I shout, cupping a palm over my mouth.

Before allowing the trio to ask what's going on, I rush out of the hallway back to the L-shaped corridor with only the thought of Chin affixed in mind.

I brake short on arrival, not granting the door privilege to close after me, and gasp again.

Chin is settled in an awkward position by the ladder like a pretzel, completely motionless with eyes sealed and arms folded over his head. Splotches of oil stain parts of his clothing, and upon further inspection, I notice the first few ladder rungs are smothered in the gunk.

Collapsing on my knees and dropping the electronic onto my lap, I begin to feel nauseous as tears gradually flood my eyes.

"No…Doctor Lee…" I mumble, burying my face into my palms.

The following minute, Owen, Charles, and Lisa all show up on cue, eventually recognizing the gruesome sight before them.

"Oh, God! What just happened here?!" Lisa spouts in shock.

Her words quickly stab into my flesh like numerous knives, knowing I am utterly responsible for Chin's demise. I cannot think of anything to counteract the misdeed I committed, and I can only imagine my intuition shaking its head at me in shame.

Feeling the air brush against my skin, I spread out my palms just enough to observe my allies as they approach Chin. Charles squats beside his body and presses his fingers into his neck, solidifying like a statue as he attempts to feel a pulse. Within another minute, he slowly shakes his head and looks up at Lisa and Owen with a bleak countenance.

"He's dead," he verifies.

"Dead? How could he be dead?" Lisa asks, overactive.

"Look, the rungs are smeared with oil," Owen says, pointing at the ladder.

"So this could be the work of the Eskimo spirit!" Lisa audibly suggests.

"Miss McIntyre, we have to consider this crisis more realistically. Surely, this cannot be just a coincidence," Charles declares.

"He's right! This is all my fault!" I yell through my palms.

The three spin their heads towards me simultaneously and without word, like manipulative robots creepily keeping watch.

I unveil the rest of my face, which must now look awful from the drying waterfall of tears that has cascaded down my cheeks within the past couple minutes. While snorting repeatedly to clear my nose, I rub my wrists firmly across my face to remove much of the tears as possible. I snap my eyes shut to contain more of my sobbing and inhale deeper breaths to prevent a larger explosion.

"I…I should not have left him all alone, not here at least," I mutter more softly.

"Andrea, what are you saying?" Owen asks.

"What I mean is…"

I pause in hesitation, reminiscing Lisa's allegation towards me and my invention plus another of the Eskimo's senseless goose chases before my colleagues popped into the picture. Also, William suggested earlier I should go ahead and bestow whatever remotely beneficial clues my cameras have captured so far – to let the remainder of the team know of the immortal's existence.

"I burst into that hallway to warn you all of an inevitable ambush. Before you showed, I caught our ghost stalking within this part of the station," I explain.

"Really? Is that what happened?" Owen questions.

Now beginning to fume with fury over both his supposed disbelief and the resisted urge to cry, I slam my fists on my lap, causing the device to flop face-down onto the floor.

"I am not making this up! Now Doctor Lee is dead because of my carelessness!" I scream.

Charles hustles to my aid, mindful to not step on my electronic as he lifts me by the shoulders and embraces me in a teddy bear hug. Accepting his amenity, I sink the side of my head into his chest and resume bawling.

"Andrea, that's not what I meant!" Owen quickly reassures.

Trying my best to subside from the erupted behavior, I hyperventilate with each blow of air and refuse the temptation of releasing more tears.

"I truly don't believe you were just exclaiming "wolf" to create an uproar, and Doctor Lee's untimely death was not your fault whatsoever," he says, nodding once in Chin's direction.

My lips quiver uncontrollably as I force a feeble smile for his loyalty, then I grit my teeth lightly and press my forehead against Charles' jacket. I can start to feel one of his hands massage my back while the other wraps around the rear of my cranium.

"If you ask me, this sounds nothing more than a tragic accident. It may not even be the wrongdoing of some spirit like we wonder," he suggests.

"Oh, come off it, Mr. Carter! You don't seriously think this could be the same oil we sustained in the lab?!" Lisa asks in agitation.

"Now, now, Miss McIntyre, let's not get too stimulated over this. All in all, even the most puzzling phenomenon would not provoke these kind of accidents," Charles calmly counters.

"The same phenomenon wouldn't go around spreading oil around either!" she snaps.

Lisa furiously stomps out of the corridor like some reckless teenager after being grounded. Her abrupt exit encourages me to cry again as I begin to recall the more relevant pieces of memory that led to Chin's casualty.

"I am so sorry, Doctor Lee!" I shout to express my guilt.

As Charles grasps me even tighter while exhaling huffs of breath like a more content bull, I sense another hand land on my shoulder.

"Andrea, maybe you can further provide the proof of the Eskimo's presence whenever time is more impeccable. I am more intrigued than ever to learn what you have encountered lately," Owen sternly suggests.


	44. Chapter 43

Once I had recovered somewhat to no longer require Charles' comfort, I allowed him to offer Owen a hand with Chin's body. Aware of the risk with the oil puddles that encircle the elderly man like an active minefield, the two find their most secure footing and lift the corpse together.

Before carrying Doctor Lee away, Owen ensures he will notify the remaining teamsters of the tragedy plus where the body shall be kept: at the large cooler room inside the laboratory. I warn them to be careful with the oil-stained floor there, which they immediately acknowledge its known danger. Charles then implies I should head back to my room to compose myself until everything is arranged for Chin's funeral; he will also be there shortly to continue giving me comfort, which I do appreciate deeply.

I am utterly destroyed, even more so than from my whole experience these past few days. Unfortunately, the fact I was in such a terrific mood this morning was just short-lived, like a reduced winter day that revealed a little sun temporarily before the conjoined canopy of clouds closed the gap. Now with Chin gone, I cannot begin my daily session of enlightenment that he suggested; I wouldn't even know how or where to properly perform the procedure without his proficient approval firsthand. I was more keen to cleanse my mind of the negativity that triggered these episodes of ambiguity – starting first with my discovery of those ghastly wisps back home. What's worse in Chin's case is how his death finally exclaimed the news that our wily spirit does indeed exist, at least according to Lisa's novel theory.

Charles is certainly correct we shouldn't panic over this trauma, especially since this is the precise motivation I gave Owen and Ben during my second oil finding. Now, however, that including everything else significant my cameras revealed seems rather inferior to this. While I had repeatedly recycled the same expectation we might lose an ally somewhere down the road of our mission, I honestly wish I never suspected that. It has placed a curse on the entire station of 'Mary', and Chin was first to succumb to it. So far, my instincts have been spot-on with these predictions, and I fear more tragedies as this will rear their ugly heads soon.

That fake Eskimo can't pull the wool over my eyes this time, as I am confident he's the criminal behind the incident. His second disappearance at the four-way corridor beforehand does indeed seem to connect. Later tonight after the funeral, I will strike the root of this mystery and hope I'm right.

I hate to imagine someone within our team to secretly be a killer, picking off victims one-by-one when they are most vulnerable. Without a doubt, I withdrew my oath to protect Chin by my gullibility – when I ran off to warn Charles, Owen, and Lisa of the Eskimo's probable attack on them. Thinking more on the situation, however, that truly would not have happened because the Eskimo, immortal or not, would be outnumbered three to one and Owen seems the best candidate to fend him off. This truly puts me in the wrong of leaving Chin from my position at the base of the ladder.

* * *

The latest hour has been trailing painstakingly slow ever since I returned to my flat. As I sit on the edge of the bed, with Charles alongside still soothing me, I continue to sob intermittently whenever poor Chin flashes across my mind.

I am actually surprised William has not paid me a visit; I would anticipate his incitement to check up on me. Perhaps he got busy straightaway after receiving the shocking news of Chin's death. It does require a great deal of effort to establish a funeral, but I would assume at the pace of this crawling hour everything should be settled by now. Nonetheless, I am rather bummed that he or Frank, at the very least, never showed yet.

Eventually, the bedroom door responds as expected, persuading me to spin my head in its direction. My mind instantly fills with enthrallment for the incoming visitor I had hoped to see, helping me forget about my depression.

Instead, Owen enters at his convenience. His arms are completely loaded with what appears to be a couple white suits with adjustable helmets.

"We'll need to wear these for the funeral since the cooler room will be quite nippy," he suggests.

He steadily places them side-by-side at the foot of my bed, revealing his current attire being slightly different. His black business suit is still exact but the shirt underneath is white.

"Also, be sure to dress as dark and formal as you can first. Even if these suits will be unbearably stuffy, fortunately we won't be in them for too long. Afterward, we'll be in the dining room to honor Doctor Lee in his passing," he continues.

"I must say, we definitely weren't ready for this turn of events," Charles comments.

"Surely," Owen agrees. "So, take as much time as you desire to be prepared. The funeral will initiate once everyone is present."

"Sorry for asking but where's William?" I ask gravelly, heaving a forceful cough to clear my throat.

"Likely back in his bedroom getting ready as well. While we were organizing things for the funeral, he picked a handful of us, including himself, to thoroughly wash the previously-cleared aisle of oil in the lab. He mentioned how you nearly injured yourself from slipping and wanted to prevent further accidents," he explains.

"Fair enough," I say as I wipe my soaked eyes.

Charles shifts his gaze to me as Owen exits the rooms. The doctor vigorously massages my back followed by a sturdy patting.

"You sounded a little saddened there," he notes.

"Oh, I wished William was here to cheer me up, too. You're aware how much I adore him, and it's not that I don't appreciate your diligence either. Your amenity for my well-being is gratifying," I reply.

"It's what I always do!" he chirps brightly, rubbing against my back with vigor. "I tend to provide as a substitute whenever loved ones are unable to see their hurt relatives."

"Thank you, Doc," I grin feebly.

"So, will you be alright without me? I'll need to return to my flat to change into something more decent before putting that monstrosity on," he asks, pointing briefly at his suit.

"Splendid idea, and yes, I can manage on my own. My only concern is I didn't bring an all-black uniform on this trip. It will have to be what I wore during my convention last weekend," I answer more calmly, presenting a bigger smirk.

* * *

My body can hardly breathe in this dense layer of rubber; a suitable source of air is received through a filtered vent at the mouth of the hood. My vision is also restricted by a miniature window – only able to focus what's in front like a horse with blinkers. I'm forced to rotate my head at wider angles to better perceive my surroundings. I feel like I'm confined in a parked car with no air conditioning to provide sufficient comfort or oxygen, which can quickly become tormenting during the summer even after a few minutes.

Before slipping into this ensemble, I tucked my electronic inside my trouser pocket to keep it in possession regardless of my inability to use it. My blunder is I haven't added a security app that will grant certain people full access through some personal identity. I never located the surefire place to conceal my most valuable belongings in my room, and I still get antsy over these mechanical doors so it's been difficult to stand near a panel to create a combination lock like Ben did.

* * *

Upon arriving the laboratory, I notice some folks are already here in their freakish outfits. They resemble beings completely foreign from human – not precisely as apparitions but more so visitors from another planet. The group have bundled at the same place the séance was initiated two evenings ago. It's hard to decipher who's who as they speak, and they all appear the same height. I can sparsely assess from just their eyes and part of their countenance.

On a broad perspective of the lab, I'm quite thrilled with how half the floor is much cleaner like the oil never sprayed there, although the neighboring lab counters and other furniture are still smothered.

This time, nobody even dared to check that I entered. Maybe they couldn't fully hear the door's commotion despite its obnoxious volume or I'm being ignored. Instead of audibly stating my attendance, I sidestep further from the crowd until I'm parked underneath a few rows of shelves. As Chin returns to depiction with nothing else in mind, I tilt my head down to scrutinize mainly the swept floor.

I could care less of everyone's outlook on me currently; however, I am humiliated of how I snapped in front of my allies when I suspected Owen didn't believe me again. Not sure about Lisa since she is still an eccentric woman, but Charles and Owen clearly supported my virtue in discovering Chin's body and never hinted I might actually be responsible for his death. That accusation would inflict the worst sense of betrayal like I am suddenly exiled from the team without question – never to be trusted again.

The remainder of the party gradually show up on their individual terms after I did. Each time the door opens, I stir from my grief and gaze up until I perceive only their chest level. I don't want to tempt myself to determine who they are, especially if they decide to examine me out of curiosity.

Finally a voice, which sounds somewhat like Owen's, announces it is time for the funeral. I wait patiently until a bulkier suit starts trailing the group then tag along like a duckling, still hanging my head enough to view his feet.

The cooler room is rather cavernous for a simple freezer unit, as if the previous excursion anticipated more than just unearthing oil. Some scientists were probably able to spare time from their normal schedule to learn more about any secrets Greenland could be hiding underneath its everlasting carpet of snow. Shelves and cabinets of stainless steel align against the monotone cerulean walls of this enclosure. Boxes and containers of various sizes are tagged with stickers revealing whether they accommodate supplies or various specimens. The giant window that gives an expansive sight of the lab is practically layered with a fine sheet of frost, identical to how my bedroom window has looked from Greenland's outdoor nature.

Chin rests on a wide stainless steel table at the center of the room, with enough leeway from the cabinets to grant people suitable paths around him. His arms are crossed over his chest and his posture is perfectly straight compared to his pretzel disfigure earlier. Whoever brought him in here managed to uncoil his body before it petrified into rigor mortis. He is also sparsely layered with the same frost blowing from the vents at both the ceiling and towards the floor.

Nearly everyone has created a close circle around his table, giving others room to squeeze past them from behind if necessary. It explains why the hulking rubber I followed has chosen to stand at the end of the table closest to the exit, which now leaves me to believe it could be Doctor Benson. I slowly approach the free space available by Chin's right abdomen. With a sigh to calm myself down, I grip his wrist and stare into his sunken eyes.

Strange. With a countenance so content and a tiny smirk that molds his beard through his cheeks, the elderly doctor does not appear dead but rather in serene sleep. In fact, it was much like that when I found him at the bottom of the ladder.

Was the man clueless of the pursuer who attacked him during his meditation? Perhaps it all occurred too quickly for him to rouse and react defensively. It's bewildering how he never foresaw the upcoming aggression, as he stated to me he can analyze minds if they're driven from corruption. Maybe his killer was all but without a clean conscience to comprehend; maybe whatever thoughts that flooded this fool's deceived brain was avarice for blood and vengeance.

Within another minute, one more person enters the cooler room. While heads focus in a single direction simultaneously, I continue to study Chin's frozen face as if nothing else burdens me in the least bit. Next I sense a weak nudge as he or she parks at the only sufficient spot beside me, motivating me to turn and observe our latest guest.

Although the eyes are mostly obscured by the narrow window as he looks not directly at me, I can speculate with a newfound excitement it's William. Those gray irises mesmerize me despite its dull subtlety; it is the warmth that invigorates its set of vibes I can distinguish as a unique color altogether. Does he know we're together at this very moment? I certainly think so.

With my energy momentarily replenished, I briefly scan through other people's windows in search for Frank since he, too, brings affection to my soul. Yet, he is not the only person with the cinnamon-brown in his eyes as nearly half the crew do.

"Wow, you're just in the nick of time, Bill," a muffled voice drips with delighted arrogance.

As William chortles in sarcasm, which seems to cheer up the rest of the crowd, I soon realize Frank is alongside me as well. Gazing up at him, I recognize the blond eyebrows that presently impose the mischief in his expression from William's response. Then he locks eye contact with me and winks, which astonishes me as I thought no one knew where I was. My best logic is I am noticeably petite to everyone else, and Chin who's a couple inches taller is lying on the table.

As things settle from that brief episode and people achieve their peace in regret, William clears his throat and sighs.

"Today…we mourn the loss of Doctor Chin Sung Lee, one of our invaluable members to the team," he begins. "In fact, he was more than that. His benevolence brought so much warmth it promoted him as a grandfather figure among many of us. Regardless of the untimely accident that took his life, he will not be forgotten for as long as we continue to prosper. May his soul be shown the light so he can seek eternal harmony in heaven."

"Amen!" everyone concludes in unison.

"Anyone have a few parting words to share?" William asks.

Various hums of uh-uh's and more vocal responses resonate from the crowd, indicating they really don't have much to say.

I take possession of Chin's hand and grip it tight, allowing fresh tears to squeeze through my sealed eyes.

"I am sorry you are dead, Doctor Lee," I mumble quietly. "You would still be up at the watch tower right now if I didn't relinquish my duty to keep you safe."

Struggling to contain myself and not explode in front of my friends, I inhale deep breaths while tears continue to cascade down my cheeks. Then a thick hand occupies my right shoulder and caresses it firmly. I look up and notice that William is bestowing me his solemn yet reassuring gaze.

"Well, I can't think of anything different to disclose. That was all beautiful, William," Charles confirms.

"Thank you, Doctor Benson. Let's take a moment of remembrance and grant those to regain their composure before we head to the dining room," William recommends, patting lightly on my shoulder.


	45. Chapter 44

The mourning crowd start to back away from Chin's table on their own term, without a single voice to even hint their grief for the elder. A body brushes firmly against my back as they shimmy on through, rousing me from my stupor. With elevated interest, I lift my gaze at the pliable door and peer intently as it animates upward for each passerby departing the frigid chamber, letting each vapor of frost escape with them.

One individual, however, stops early of the door's range, turning steadily until eyes meet mine.

"You coming, Andrea?" William asks calmly.

Before I could respond, unknown hands from behind begin an alternate drumming on my shoulders.

"Liven up, Nellie! Let's go!" Frank spouts comically in a fake twang.

I scoff lightly and grin from his dosage of humor, which has helped somewhat to reduce my lethargy. Giving Chin a final glance, I silently state my promise to return here at an impeccable time whenever my schedule broadens a gap. Now there are two dead bodies for me to visit which sounds rather depressing.

I waddle between folks while in close pursuit of William and with Frank as my caboose. Eventually, we park by the very spot I previously occupied alone. Although Frank isn't making it too conspicuous by informing William brief notes about personal business while undressing his suit, I realize something here is a tad amiss. Reminiscing Lisa's persistent crush on him, I turn to the other group; as predicted, there she is eyeing him like a hawk.

Gravity takes the white outfit from her loosening grip to unveil a black silk dress with a large pendant hanging from her neck. She definitely seems prepared for a big date, as if there's little care for Doctor Lee's passing. Next she tries almost desperately to seize Frank's attention – flashing her monotone plumage and flipping her hair his way. Can't say I blame her for this kind of perseverance, yet it is unnecessary.

While it's true Frank admires my company more and I stored a spot in my heart for him, I won't dare attempt stealing him from Lisa. I already stirred William's concern and would despise disappointing him any further since I have declared my love for him.

Once most of us have removed our suits, Owen insists he'll take them off our hands. Teamsters form a line with their outfits draped over their arms, waiting patiently as he hangs them accordingly inside the massive wardrobe that stands between the window and the door to the cooler room. I choose to hold onto mine until everyone has returned theirs, pressing my back against the wall.

Before long, my view is impeded by William as he approaches me – his black business suit eclipsing almost everything; Frank stands a little farther back like a second moon satellite trailing behind. Then I notice the attire he dons this time, comprising of a jacket that's unbuttoned over his vest. Although it looks formal for this event, I am starting to adore this style of clothing on him more than just the vest he's worn regularly.

"Everything alright? What are you waiting for?" William asks me.

"Huh…oh, sure, I'm fine. I just want to be last to give Owen my suit, that's all," I reply softly.

"Then, I'll offer my spot to you. I'd rather you be in front of me," he suggests, smiling.

As if on cue, Frank immediately proceeds to the tail-end of the line, trying not to gawk at us extensively. Knowing I have no other choice, I heed in William's order and revolve around him to follow the remainder of the awaiting group.

After people have returned their suits, some of them immediately exit the laboratory to make haste for the dining room as arranged. Watson especially knows he must begin preparing for tonight's meal so guests won't later wonder when their bellies growl with hunger.

Much to Frank's dismay as illustrated on his countenance, the second he steps from the line, Lisa rushes to him like an energetic puppy. She throws her arms around him for a demanding squeeze and pops fat kisses on his cheeks. Several dark stamps of lipstick stuck to his face, adding to the scowl of being trapped in this torment as she continues to present her affection without a break.

While watching them from a reasonable distance, I oppose cracking a smile or snickering at the situation despite the temptation. I'd regret betraying him by being rude over this stupidity, and I swear he's given me another pessimistic glimpse.

Remorse washes over me once more as Chin reappears in mind, stimulating fresh tears through my eyes. The flashback of him at the foot of the ladder stained in oil further inspires whimpering and I shield my face with my palms.

William circles in my direction after freely packing away his own outfit while Owen works on mine. His eyes narrow in bewilderment as he comes closer.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

I separate my hands enough to see him. Trying hard to revert to calmer breathing, my constant hiccups unfortunately make it difficult to stay serene.

"I can't…I can't go on with this," I stutter.

Before he could counteract those words of defeat, I sprint out of the lab.

"Andrea! Wait!" he shouts, cranking his legs to high gear for the chase.

Aware my plan of retreating to my bedroom will be fruitless as I know William is after me again, I instead brake to an abrupt halt at the four-way enclosure. I jog to the water cooler, fold my arms over the container which causes a single air bubble to ascend to the surface, and bury my face.

Seconds later, the commotion from the northern access invades my ears from behind. I resume bawling quietly as if I don't care who entered.

"Andrea…" William whispers, his deep voice causing my nerves to tingle with comfort.

Shortly after hearing the door's cacophony once more, I feel his hands span across my upper back.

"Andrea, you can't just retire to your room because you're ashamed of Doctor Lee's fate. He would have wanted you to be strong for him," he insists.

Snorting strenuously to clear my nose, I lift my head and peek over my shoulder. The warm grin embedded on his face presents such tranquility that I cease crying altogether.

"Here."

He cautiously rotates my body by the shoulders, which is what I hoped for. Now facing him directly – my strained eyes staring into his healthier pair – he pulls me in closer for the familiar hug.

"I'm sorry, William," I confess more clearly. "I developed the hard accusation his death was my responsibility. I should be the one on that table instead."

"Don't say that, please," he pleads sternly. "Now that you just reminded me of your near-death episode days ago, it would have saddened me greatly if your life ended under any circumstances. It simply wouldn't be the same without you, and your job has become increasingly significant over this novel event. You probably won't believe me even if other folks have already confirmed this to you, but nothing about this occurrence is your fault whatsoever. Perhaps your last-minute action is what actually saved your life, otherwise we could've had two victims today."

"That's viable, I suppose," I admit.

"So, how about we head to the dining room together? You can give me more elaboration on the incident so I can further comprehend your depression," he proposes.

"Pardon me for mentioning this but you sure sound quite mild. I wouldn't expect you to soak in tears but nevertheless be sunken in profound grief like everyone else," I acknowledge.

"Well, ever since I lost both my closest family, I've grown more accustomed in seeing death thus I don't mourn as easily. Losing Doctor Lee was no doubt a crucial blow for all of us and I will miss the old guy. I know he was especially influential to you after his treatment last night, and I intend to pay everyone the respect they deserve," he resolves.

"Oh, that's right!" I exclaim in shock. "I forgot your parents were deceased! Goodness, I'm so sorry for my ignorance!"

I slowly back away from his unbound grasp, as if ready to spring into action of a speedy withdrawal. However, he swiftly regains strength and braces me even tighter, revealing an intimidating frown as he stares right into my soul.

"Afraid I cannot let you flee from me over such gullibility," he growls in such a low tone that goosebumps erupt everywhere from my skin. "At least you remembered them."

"Yeah, I did," I stammer sheepishly.

* * *

The event at the dining room, followed by the regular serving of evening grub, really didn't turn out as bleak as I thought, which is moderately the reason why I was so keen to bail on everyone earlier. Nevertheless, William was such an exceptional confidant and helped sweep my woes under the rug; even if Frank couldn't quite provide the same amount of motivation due to Lisa's ravenous thirst for his charm, he encouraged me to a feeble laughter by narrating new and whimsical stories related to his part-time position as the high school jester. In fact, he delved deeper into the episode with the kid who mindlessly dropped his pants in front of the passing principal, and I can't help but pity the poor loser for his confusion.

Although I do predict a dash of green envy from Lisa since Frank seems to pay more attention to me over her, I am not enforcing this whatsoever. This is truly what I had feared, after I bid my commitment to keep her affection a secret and when Frank soon revealed her noted crush. Now the dilemma has developed to where it nips me light on the butt, and eventually those fangs will pierce without mercy. This begs the question of whether he may be doing this to provoke some form of sabotage.

Once time had struck at the conclusion of the final waking hour, William suggested I should turn in right away and prepare for a well-deserving rest before tomorrow. With the enigma of Chin's casualty now enlisted to me, I have a new obligation to penetrate into its surface in hopes of reaching the heart.

Owen himself has grown increasingly curious about every vital detail my cameras have captured since day one, and it's about time I should finally stop concealing all this information for its protection. What I can do tomorrow is compile the best clips of footage into one presentation and show it to him; since he owns a laptop, I can help transfer the data to his machine so he can investigate them freely without needing my consent. Unfortunately, even as William has constantly recommended presenting the clips to him, I still cannot consider him trustworthy.

* * *

Having returned to my bedroom, I give my flat an all-around scanning as if it's been forever I was here. The instant my eyes fall on my bed, a light bulb in my head tings with new life. Remembering Chin's frequent stays at the watch tower for his isolated sessions, maybe it won't hurt to spend the night up there tonight. My only concerns are how uncomfortable the wooden balcony might be and where to locate the nearest restroom if desired. The surefire place to answer nature's call safely without disturbing anyone is the public lavatory for the dining room.

My best plan currently is to get myself washed up and bladder emptied, and then gather all the blankets I can to achieve only one trip to the watch tower. As stupid as it sounds, somehow I feel it's the proper place to be tonight. I want to stay near Chin in case he's still around so I can confess to him on a more personal note. Apologizing in front of his dead corpse has not satisfied my nagging side.

Then an ounce of suspicion fills when William appears in the spotlight. If he would ever have the tendency to check up on me here and realizes I'm missing, what would be that outcome? My unclad bed should hint a good prospect I decided to sleep elsewhere, yet that likely won't prevent him from scouting the station in a tireless effort to find me . Yes, I did step out into that blizzard during the first night but I am never eager to be suicidal. I'm positive he knows that and won't include his search outside for even a short minute. Besides, I'll just be at another part of 'Mary' that is undeniably risky yet safe after reaching the top.

* * *

After entering the L-shaped corridor, I heave my load by the ladder and gawk with astonishment that all the oil's been removed from the scene. It could very well be the faux Eskimo as before, after the firsthand witnesses departed with Chin's body, or it probably was an ally performing a virtuous deed of not letting the gunk sit as a nasty reminder from today's incident.

Scowling at my things, I realize the feat of delivering them to the elevated platform will not be easy as more than one trip is required. With a few huffs to fuel my confidence, I take the simpler objects first and proceed with each ginger footing up the ladder.

* * *

My determination finally triumphs after I carried everything to the top and later made the softest bed possible with a few padded covers. The automatic lights that illuminate the entire tower below has helped me to set up everything without being confined in total darkness, since there is no light available at the gallery and my electronic wouldn't be efficient enough. The motionless air occupying the balcony is actually not too chilly despite Greenland's subzero temperature seeping through the windows; thankfully, my pajamas alone are keeping me moderately toasty.

Once my eyes have adapted to the night, I soon become mesmerized by the majestic view outside. The half-full moon hovers just barely over the distant mountain ranges and the sky is absolutely cloudless and lucid, letting the vast cap of stars twinkle bright with vigor. The everlasting blanket of snow below glows by the moon's intensity, causing the more crystallized particles to glimmer like the stars. I hum a faint exclamation to complement this spiritual prospect, pasting a stream of exhale on the cold window.

The moment sleep starts draining my system, I return to my self-made bed and worm under the remaining covers. As I lay flat on my back and finish getting cozy, I realize the floor is not as uncomfortable as suspected. These thick blankets are doing a remarkable job cushioning my weight against the surface.

As I resume scanning the stars outside, the reflection of today's accident develops back into picture. I lose concentration of my present view and think deeper into the enigma, baffled on how or why Chin had to be the victim. Pulling my device from under my pillow, I deduce that answer lies within the reliability of my cameras.

Seriously, how could that Eskimo be at the crossroads right before Chin dropped from the tower?

As I'd like to suspect this is the impostor's offense, the first part of that question doesn't flow well. Refraining from the very hallway me and my friends were located would mean scaling several rooms and passages to reach the L-shaped corridor, which poses a higher risk of getting caught. I do recall his disappearance after he snuck closer to the eastern access, relinquishing any trace of him even at the other nearby foyers.

I switch to the very camera overlooking me right now, unconcerned about those other places revealing anything important. Knowing it's been hours since the incident, I focus hard on the rapid search as the footage rewinds. At one point, fatigue throws me off-guard momentarily and I nearly bypass a new animation of strange forms flailing about on screen. Stopping to replay the video a minute prior to the episode, I decide to just observe Chin patiently until that moment arises again.

A dark figure suddenly emerges from the top of the ladder, gradually revealing itself as the fake Eskimo I anticipated. He tiptoes ever so lightly towards the doctor until he stands right behind him. Then he waits in fixed posture like a predator, surveying Chin peacefully with no alteration of expression before unfurling into position. He snatches the elderly man by the shoulders and tosses him into the gaping mouth. Chin revealed no signs of struggle as he was being thrown, nor did he attempt to grab any of the rungs to save his life before disappearing. The killer then stands over the hole and peers straight down; soon I hear a distant crashing that must've indicated the doctor's deadly contact with earth. The Eskimo remains rooted on the spot for the ensuing minutes after, influencing me to speed up the footage until he finally moves again. Taking hold of one of the rungs first, he descends the ladder and eventually vanishes from camera view.

Having seen enough out of disgust mixed with turmoil, I shut down the gadget and stuff it underneath my blankets. I roll on my stomach and begin sobbing into my pillow.

"Chin…why must this happen?" I mutter softly.

I continue to cry until drowsiness reduces me to drenched eyes; I force myself to steadier breathing and a cleared mind to promote sleep with total control.


	46. Chapter 45

Day 6

I lift my heavy eyelids at the perception of the ladder and the balcony illuminated faintly by a very premature sunrise. The yearning for nature's call soon knocks on the door, making it more futile to fall back asleep. Realizing if I go ease the urgency now, I can elude even the earliest of morning birds before the dining room officially opens. I stretch out my limbs to the limit and massage my eyes, then I sleepily rise to my feet and execute each meager step to the ladder with extra caution. Not ambitious to worry about any stray fear of extreme height, I start to work my way down the ladder.

Perhaps this trip won't tip my hourglass.

* * *

*William's POV*

Before heading down to breakfast to invigorate the new day, William decides to pay Andrea a visit to determine how she's faring after yesterday. Upon entering her flat, his thoughts load with dread the instant he acknowledges her absence. While assessing the scenario to hopefully unveil any whereabouts of her, he discovers the bed is stripped of its covers – like somebody took them for washing and hasn't replaced them yet.

"Andrea, where could you be…?" he asks under his bated breath.

Unable to decipher anything else evident after snooping under furniture and even checking out both the wardrobe and the bathroom, he then speculates the dining room could fulfill this mystery. Either she's there already or if not a colleague might know her location.

* * *

As the dining room door slides shut after him with its usual commotion, William starts scanning each body present at the table – eventually glowering with disappointment Andrea is not among one of them.

He steadily grows more worried to a level of sickness, perplexed to where else she could be besides outside. He quivers at that aspect, as if reacting to the frigid stings protruding from Greenland's climate. She has indeed left the station at least once since the night of their arrival here, one of which he participated in. What if she's visiting the Eskimo's grave now, to give the spirit some closure before she must focus on more significant matters today?

Charles, who's conversing with Ben, detects the ebbing vibe of distress from William and leans against his chair behind Ben's back for enhanced view.

"Something wrong, young Mayfield?" he asks.

"Sigh, has anyone seen Andrea lately? I entered her bedroom a little while ago but she wasn't there," William replies.

"Afraid not. I remember her with you last night during Doctor Lee's toast but that's the last I've seen her," Charles confirms.

"Andrea's missing?" Ben asks baffled, sounding increasingly anxious.

"Now, now, Green, let's not panic over this misplacement," Charles suggests calmly, taking a swig of his coffee. "She's obviously somewhere in this massive station. We just haven't explored the right places yet."

"Wait…she was quite distraught over Doctor Lee's death…" William murmurs clearly, grasping his chin as he stares into space.

Then his countenance lightens with a toothy smirk and he snaps his fingers.

"Of course! There are a few places related to him that Andrea could be at right now. Thanks for the advice, Doc!" he gestures brightly.

"Glad to be of assistance," Charles remarks coolly, grinning wide.

After exiting the dining room on a stride – only to be slightly impeded by the automatic door – William heads to Chin's bedroom as the first opportunity. Regardless of the new morale pumping his legs to a brisk jog, he can't help but think solely of Andrea.

Before banking the turn to Mary's west wing, he nearly collides into his best friend. Frank swiftly sidesteps away from the slowing rampage and spins toward William.

"Whoa, geez, settle down, Bill! What's the mad rush?" he asks, almost agitated.

"Goodness, I do apologize for the sudden fright!" William confesses, panting heavily. "Andrea is missing and I need to find her."

"Oh? You know where she might be?" Frank approaches a step, warming with concern.

"Yes. I'm heading to one of those places now."

"Good luck then. On a small note, I'm heading outside to finally begin work on the chopper. After inspecting the damages the other day, I can only hope it's not too crippled to be worth salvaging."

"It's our only ride home, Frank. Just do the best you've always achieved," William recommends, patting broadly on Frank's upper arm for the support.

"I'll do what I must."

* * *

*Back to Andrea's POV*

Unfortunately, that bathroom break earlier this morning did motivate me enough to become wide awake. No matter how determined I was to fall back asleep for practically an hour, I only wasted time tossing around while thoughts in my brain swelled. Perhaps my "bed" has flattened to deprive more sufficient cushioning on the wooden surface, making it less comfortable to sleep on.

Instead, I spent this past wakeful hour admiring the sunrise bloom across Greenland, sometimes peeking over my shoulder at the waning expanse of night as the most brilliant of stars and planets endured and the moon retreated into the horizon.

As extended shadows gradually contract by the rising sun, the snow brightens to a fiery gradient that is not as flamboyant as the sunset I remember from the other evening – when I was returning to 'Mary' from the Eskimo's gravesite. The reflection from the icy lake intensifies like a miniature star in the distance; I can also distinguish the hole in the ice vaguely like an isolated sun spot. The sky spans indefinitely without a cloud stretching across even the boldest of mountain peaks; however, there is a translucent mist hovering halfway up those ranges.

I encountered Chin in a dream last night, even though I can't shake the suspicion this actually didn't occur in my subconscious. As I was sitting up from my loosely-made bed here, he appeared before me in spirit form. Despite his death and the numerous times I apologized about the unexpected fate, he remained very tolerant and harmonious, which is precisely how I recognized him when he was alive.

He justified his ignorance on what honestly happened to him; his skeptical explanation was his meditation somehow caused him to levitate off the ground, only to plummet such a great length. Then, he persuaded me to start those therapy sessions we discussed yesterday, convincing me the steps are pretty straightforward without his aid. His following instructions boosted my resolve to do this; after that, I promised on a high note to give it my utmost performance and hopefully lift from my depression.

At the conclusion of our meeting, I stood up to hug him before hearing a euphony of bells out of oblivion. He ascended through the ceiling and out of sight, and the balcony around me illuminated with a strange light source.

While I'm grateful of Chin's reward to enter the afterlife so readily, I wish the same fortune could shine for my Eskimo buddy. Granted, to free him from our world means I must succeed in this ultimate mission unknown to everyone else, yet I only accomplished little. That séance resulted in a messy outcome and now his impostor has commenced a killing spree. He's been accurate on these forthcoming events lately and has assured me he's got my back whenever I face dire trouble. Not sure how he will help exactly since he can't make physical contact, but he inevitably has tricks up his sleeves that a mortal can scarcely imagine.

Still mesmerized by the outdoors and nowhere near ready to start heading down with my things, my ears identify a faint metallic clang and I snap back to reality. Gazing around puzzled, I soon discover the ladder is shaking, very light and rapid, and the noise down below presumably is growing louder. My heart throbs and rebounds inside my ribcage with excitement, as if receiving a draft of caffeine.

"Uh-oh…" I mouth silently.

I suddenly recall last night's concern of William ever wanting to check up on me, which pins my prediction this anonymous person must be him and he's about to find me.

With a new mischief coursing through my veins, I scramble back to my bed as quietly as possible. Once comfortable, I inhale deep breaths to soothe my nerves and look towards the ladder. Eventually a hand emerges, grabbing the first rung inches above floor level. Confronting the laughter that rattles my larynx and wishing I don't ever sustain an itch, a cough or a sneeze, I turn my cranium back in front, snap my eyes shut, and resume the casual respiration.

After the ladder's endless cacophony has finally ceased, I hear a gasp followed by a deeper sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank heavens, there you are," William mumbles, causing a shiver to shoot up my spine.

For the ensuing minutes, I don't hear anything aside from minor shuffling but refrain from opening my eyes to see what's going on. He's probably observing me from the ladder, contemplating how angelic I seem in my slumber.

Finally, there's more commotion from the ladder and I feet a pair of feet land on the balcony, causing the wood under his added weight to creak. Luckily my body does not flinch in fright. Footsteps tiptoe closer until there's an extra draw of breath as I assume he squats beside me.

Even with this temporary blindness, my intuition can clearly envision him watching over me, equipped with the devil's sneer that has always made me shy away.

His palm then presses onto my shoulder, shaking it lightly.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, it's time to wake up. I know you're pretending to be asleep," he chants in singsong.

Although I predicted on a small note he'd be armed with that knowledge, I don't stir and focus on my steady breathing without disturbance.

I wait patiently until he eventually stops massaging my shoulder, then he goes into a slight chuckle.

"Very well, I'll play your game. Don't say I didn't warn you," he says in a more cunning pitch.

I can sense the air around me shift, stimulating my level of anxiety as I am now clueless of his strategy. While my brain starts to wonder how I got into this predicament, I suddenly feel moist lips touch mine.

My eyes bulge wide open without a blink and I muffle a squeak of shock, realizing William is actually…kissing me! I knew this sentimental moment would again arise since his previous shot, but why did he choose to surprise me like this? Was he worried I might reject again?

Losing control, I grip my blankets tight and squirm like an exposed worm, until he cups a hand to my cheek. Like a sedative, it helps me to calm down and close my eyes, letting me cherish this beautiful gift as it persists.

For what has like an eternity of bliss, he retreats from our kiss with a soft, wet smack and scoffs with amusement. My lips move voluntarily until I notice it's truly over, then I peel away my eyelids to view the handsome devil – arching his eyebrows to improve the shrewd expression.

"Good morning, dear," he says.

"Did that really happen? Was that a kiss?" I ask, bewildered.

Half of me is now claiming that was all a dream and I am still a pure virgin.

"Yes, it was," he replies coolly. "How was it?"

"Like heaven," I comment.

He nods and simpers wider.

"I wanted to guarantee your very first kiss shall be one to treasure, and to be frank, you're the first woman to earn my reward," he mentions.

"Huh? You never smooched those other ladies you referred previously?" I ask.

"No. They've tried grazing at other places on my person but never on the lips. That was beyond the boundary limit for me. Nevertheless, I respected their perseverance."

Speechless, I nod in approval and sigh affectionately at the flashback of that kiss playing in my head.

"Hmm, from the exhilarated obsession on your face, you desire another lovely smack," he suggests.

"What?" I mutter with ignorance, reverting my attention to him. "Oh, um, I think I'm good for now."

My cheeks flush red with embarrassment and I giggle, which in turn resorts him to more laughter.

"Ah, Andrea, I just love your modesty so much. If anything, you shouldn't be too timid over moments like this. You deserved that achievement of reaching the next rank in romance; my first attempt at kissing you the other night indeed peaked your curiosity despite the lack of confidence," he explains.

"Yes, it's true I should've been more open to your gesture. With this kiss, you assured me there's honestly nothing to worry about. Yet, I do remember your giddiness while we were outside viewing the lake the other day. You almost demanded an increase in our intimacy, which I feel is jumping the gun too soon for me," I disclose.

"Hey, I wasn't really trying to take advantage of your kindness. I don't know where you got that impression from," he counters, leering in disappointment.

"Oh, I'm sorry for the accusation," I confess softly. "That was just my reaction then but you know how nervous I can be over these events firsthand. That's just how I am."

Rather than confirming in acceptance to my apology or showing any contentment, his frown droops further. Either my allegation against his noted behavior had truly pierced his feelings or there's some harsh reality of remorse over something.

"William?" I ask, worried.

He stares at me for a minute without a reply then huffs sharply to further demonstrate his displeasure. In the midst of that period, I could've sworn the sky outside has dimmed like clouds have suddenly concealed the sun, deterring it from contributing any vital light and energy to the frigid environment.

"Andrea, your apology isn't essential. You're actually correct I keep wanting to move hastily into our relationship when it may have unsettled you at times. I've been egotistical for my own good," he solemnly concedes.

"You're not a selfish person at all," I quickly oppose. "Honestly, that kiss was delightful and you saw how it invigorated me."

"Except you were likely unaware of the situation before it happened. I just smooched you right then and there."

He exhales again and shakes his head slowly, looking away in shame.

"I think, from here on out…we should just end our affair," he whispers reluctantly.

I gawk at him stupefied. Trying desperately to spout any disbelief of his new judgment, my lips can only quiver without a peep.

"I'd hate to constantly place myself in front of you; besides that, I am still your boss and not your lover. The behavior we presented to our colleagues has proven the incompetence in my responsibilities, even if some of them were quite lenient in our interactions," he explains.

"No…please, William, don't discard our love entirely. Let's not make the day dismal just because you care deeply for my wellbeing. Whatever we do to continue our romance henceforth, I will take it as a great learning experience. You always approached me with such subtlety to not scare me, unlike how I've witnessed some movie characters perform their lust," I beg in forlorn, almost willing to kiss him myself.

"Andrea, I loathe the decision as much as you, so please don't make it anymore difficult," he insists. "We can still be friends, if you wish."

Surrendering in silent defeat to avoid an argument, I remain hushed and look away towards the windows to view the morning sky. For the first time I know what heartbreak feels like, which upsets me more than the loneliness I've grown to adapt these preceding years. Why must my secluded nature always hinder me from becoming very social with people, especially when love has the tendency to sprout unexpectedly?

William observes me directly as I can perceive him from my side vision, likely not waiting for an answer to his added suggestion but rather surveying my sadness.

"Sorry, Andrea," he says. "The last thing I want is to harm you."

Again, I don't hint a murmur. Now I wish he'd leave me be so I can attempt to carry on my tasks as assigned without his presence.

"So," he speaks once more. "I came searching for you when you weren't at your flat. Why did you prefer to spend the night here?"

"You can probably assume it's for Doctor Lee, since he frequently enjoyed meditating at this tower," I answer softly, still not returning eye contact. "I wanted to stick close to him in case he was still around, if you catch my drift."

"I understand," he concurs, nodding. "After the evening of your illness, you perceived him as a loyal mentor – a loving grandfather figure under your eyes. Nevertheless, you shouldn't let his death interfere with your mission today, so I strongly advise you tackle that after breakfast."

"Noted," I acknowledge, withdrawing the urge to spout rudely to escalate my new immaturity.

"You need assistance carrying your things down?" he asks.

"No, thanks. I can haul whatever's easy enough to hold and either make multiple trips or let gravity handle the rest," I answer.

"Alright."

He gradually rises to his full height, appearing like a skyscraper towering over me, and ambles toward the ladder. During his descent he stops before losing contact, staring at me momentarily before heaving another sigh.

"Andrea, regardless of this shocking circumstance, I do still love you. Don't take this with a grain of salt and embrace negligence on my existence whenever we meet again on future terms," he solemnly recommends.

Shifting my attention his way, I watch with apathy as he vanishes from sight, his last hand letting go of the same rung visible from above the wooden floor.

Now fuming with fury, I cannot believe of my extended misfortune – one that begins with the day on an uplifting emotion only to be shot down hard.

As I return to the very spot I was previously standing to resume my view of the scenery outside, I try to forget the passion I once knew. I slam my fist against the window and shriek angrily.

Maybe he heard that…


	47. Chapter 46

Never would I have speculated, in dreams more wonderful than I fulfilled these preceding days, that today's adversity could expose a note drastically sour than I'd scarcely imagine. I'm an empty shell with no longer a soul to fuel me with contagious laughter. My heart is torn asunder and still beating feebly as if there's any will left, yet that seems in vain. To think, I was bestowed the most fascinating gift ever, before plunging into such lethargy that the kiss means absolutely nothing anymore.

How could William, the one who resolved our passion the instant I laid eyes on him, suddenly betray me like this? All I can reiterate yet again is my confusion of why I am here in the first place, apart from my primary duty as station Mary's watchdog. After heeding the summary of his father's fiasco, I admired William's determination to aid the immortal Eskimo in seeking his eternal life in heaven, no matter how farfetched the mission sounds. At the ascent of our newfound relationship, I surrendered to his charm which revealed my high modesty. Then, he treated me like I was his baby sister, vowing protection even if it meant endangering himself.

Contemplating deeper into this notion, I wonder if that's precisely why he forced our love to end. Is he just trying to ensure my safety from the ugliest of surprises lurking within these pits of despair? Nevertheless, our separation has pierced me quite deep, arousing the inner teenager who constantly freaks out over the least significant of ordeals. This time the volcano has erupted, steaming with an intense fury that people are wise to steer clear of.

William could've suggested we shouldn't express our romance so dearly in front of our teammates. However Charles always seemed enthusiastic when observing us and nobody else has truly minded. Ben may have shown mild envy once I mentioned William's feelings towards me during our helicopter trip, but that later changed after I pecked him on the cheek. His virtue was his own reward for healing my hand, and perhaps he knew that was the very first kiss I ever done.

Despite my brief judgment of William's possible commitment, I still believe he has posed a major error. I love him deep down but unfortunately the more hostile portion of my conscious now despises every part of his body without remorse.

I shall attempt to render a mood of composure to not concern my friends, but that won't be an easy feat if William happens to be within the mix as well. Knowing his presence could very well provoke this very incident to replay in my head like a broken record, shrouding our more meaningful memories into gloom. To avoid a greater depression, I'll disregard him on a private note and focus strictly on any further responsibilities he assigns me.

After sparing a few minutes to cool down, I calmly undo my temporary bed and then prepare for the descent to ground level. Choosing the option to not make multiple trips, I toss over any larger covers I cannot carry down the shaft. Occasionally they engulf enough air during their barbaric unfurling to create a parachute, gliding down ever so gracefully without an owner. They eventually land and spread out around the base of the ladder, cloaking the floor from eyeshot. With the pillow and remaining blankets clutched tightly under one arm, I claim my only grasp on a rung while cautiously finding both feet on another. I take one final gaze at the morning sky surrounding the windows, which has returned to its brilliant glory before my happiness influenced by it was crudely cut short.

* * *

I return to my flat hastily with thankfully nobody else to bump into. Along the way, I evaded far from the control room's access especially as I waddled with my belongings. If Frank is currently there maintaining 'Mary's' security for another day, he probably won't mind another intrusion but he will wonder why I'm holding my blankets. With the new embarrassment heating my face, I don't possess the confidence to inform anyone else I slept at the watch tower. I'd rather isolate myself from my allies and pretend I am super busy today. My absence may worry some folks, as that was William's motive to locate me on a more personal duty. I now wish he never found me nor had that inspiration.

Following the tedious chore of remaking my bed and storing the extra covers inside my wardrobe, I get dressed and begin my brisk journey to the dining room with some reluctance. Although I don't want to see anybody, my hunger just confirmed I need a hearty breakfast to sustain the day, as usual. I roll my eyes at the distress of my situation and sigh.

* * *

Upon entering I spot nearly everybody at the table, all seated together in one bundle towards the wall. Their words flow harmoniously like a flock of birds chirping away, with plates of food lain in front of them barely consumed. Good, I didn't arrive so late and can easily blend right in after getting my grub.

My heart plummets to the pit of my stomach, causing shivers to stimulate my nerves into a wave throughout my body. As I had predicted William to be among the gang, conversing with Ben once more, I am still not pleased to see him.

Eventually he stops talking and focuses his attention on me with a blank expression, persuading Ben to revolve on his chair. His round face lightens with ecstasy and he swiftly rises to his feet, approaching me on a trot.

"Morning, Andrea!" he greets excitedly, bending down to give me a tight squeeze.

His overly cheerful behavior astounds me as I haven't seen him this giddy before. Guess my kiss did more than surprise him – it rejuvenated his entire soul.

With a faint smile, I wrap my arms around his back gently to return the hug, unable to rest my chin on his shoulder as he is still quite lanky for my height.

"Was wondering when you might show up. I suggested Watson to cook something special for you, which we all received, too," he mentions.

Could've sworn I saw those pancakes during my short inspection. This is definitely a moment of déjà vu here.

"Thanks, Ben," I mutter softly.

He gradually releases our bind and looks at me, those magnetized eyes behind his bifocals narrowing.

"Hey, is everything okay?" he asks concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply.

I glance past Ben's elbow and notice that William is now facing away from us, diving into conversation with other brethren as he takes a few bites. Although moderately bummed he's lost interest in me, I could care less beyond this point.

"I'm just contemplating how I'll tackle my new task given to me today. It might just dominate my whole day," I explain calmly with only minor anxiety.

"Fully understandable. I know that feeling," he acknowledges, grinning again.

"Thanks for the hug though. I will need it," I gesture kindly.

"Sure thing!"

He pats broadly on my shoulder, causing me to stumble under his added ambition, and returns to his seat while glimpsing back at me occasionally. This prompts William to veer away from the remaining group and resume his glare.

The instant Ben spins back in front, I survey everyone else to motivate my assurance and scowl angrily at William. His grim feature remains unchanged yet I do detect a trace of guilt that leaves me pondering if he'll eventually break. I race into the kitchen without resuming further eye contact, reappearing moments later and choosing my favorite barstool away from the dining table.

While observing the group with the petite mirror across the tavern, Ben checks over his shoulder once more and his countenance molds into sorrow.

"Andrea, why aren't you sitting with us?" he asks, urging others excluding William to look.

"I prefer sitting here, as it's become my favorite spot at the bar. These bottles themselves especially make good eye candy," I answer content.

"Hmm, in that case, mind if I accompany you?" he requests.

Turning to face him, my grin spreads wider with elevating hope for his generosity, appreciating the company he offers. I point down at a stool beside me, and Ben immediately shoots up from his seat, slamming against the table and stirring quite a ruckus. The other guests glare at him annoyed as he snatches his breakfast and carries them to the bar counter. That Cheshire cat's simper stretched across his cheeks along with his huge glasses almost intimidates me, although a different comparison to the cunning sneers William has given me.

Once fully settled alongside me, he pulls me in for another hug and chuckles, enticing me into a puny laughter.

"So, what exactly is your task for today, if I may ask? Will your schedule be tight?" he wonders.

I can sense loneliness in his tone which I cannot blame him for, seeing as his plants have elected him an inferior slave to satisfy their daily desires.

"I was instructed to search through my cameras and identify anything outside the lab that might've correlated with the oil found in the sprinkler system; whether our elusive spirit was responsible for that enigma," I reveal.

"Oh, you honestly believe that was the ghost's misdeed to frighten us, perhaps?"

"We are dealing with some paranormal activity here so anything's possible," I confirm.

"You're right. Well, think you might spare a couple minutes today to…come visit me in my room? I'll admit I missed you after you kissed me the other day," he pleads.

I wish he hadn't have exposed that information, not so audibly anyway. My cheeks flush red and I peer through the small mirror again. As anticipated, William is completely immobile, petrified into stone. He slowly rotates his head until he confronts me straight in the eye, glowering with a disheartening silence of disappointment. Feeling confined, I gape my mouth open to confess my action but his deep anger leaves me utterly speechless before he turns away.

"You alright, Andrea? Was it something I said?" Ben asks concerned.

"Sorry for sounding like a sourpuss, Ben, but you should've kept that last bit a secret among us. You recall my relationship with William?" I ask.

"Oh, oh my! I apologize for spilling those beans!" he snaps with shame.

"Don't worry about it. Our love chain broke earlier this morning after I received my first kiss from him, and now we're not on speaking terms anymore unless it's anything related to the mission," I disclose calmly.

"So…that explains why you seemed so down in the dumps moments ago, aside from the likely truth you will be especially occupied today," he assumes.

"I will be a busy bee, no doubt. Yet, I was a fool to think I achieved my true obsession with somebody," I say.

After citing that opinion, I contemplate more on the crucial moments this morning has offered until right now, and fresh tears start to flood my eyes. Breathing steadily to settle down, I quietly sob into my palms and grit my teeth. Ben quickly supports me, bestowing another squeeze with both arms this time, nearly sliding me off my stool.

"There, there, Andrea. I'm here for you," he whispers.

"Th-thank you, Ben. You are a very benevolent friend I can depend on when times are rough. You would've been there for me if your schedule wasn't very strained," I commend him softly.

"Don't mind about my plants. To me, you are always welcome whenever you need a pick-me-up. I won't cry but I'll be blue with you. A sweetie such as yourself shouldn't be wallowing in tears," he says, massaging my farthest shoulder.

"I suppose after breakfast I'll hang with you a bit whilst I proceed scanning my cameras through my portable device and other similar tasks," I suggest. "It may even help divert my attention from today's fiasco."

"I really am sorry for ever mentioning that kiss, as well as your separation with William. You two sure paired well together and I am not envious in your relationship at all," he acknowledges.

"R-really? I thought you were a little dismayed back in the helicopter when I noted it," I mention, ceasing my crying.

"I may have trailed off some which lead you to believe that, but I am far more content in us just being amiable buddies and nothing more. Hence, that opportunity has shined and I am totally grateful," he assures me, coaxing me to smile weakly.


	48. Chapter 47

While breakfast persisted to the group's contentment, I was practically quiet as a mouse except for any peeps as a brief response to Ben's simpler questions. Most of the time, however, he broke into lengthy stories that don't require me to reply, since he is well aware of my depression that invigorates my absence of curiosity. Yet that has not prevented me from being more considerate towards him, as I admire his attempt to stimulate my spirits and lift me from this unpleasant despair. I've especially been swallowing my own tears with each bite of food and inhaling deeper breaths to mitigate more sobbing.

Once everyone has reached the end of their discussions and started vacating their seats simultaneously to deliver their dirty dishes to the kitchen, Ben readily snatches both his and mine without question. Watching as he strolls to the open doorway, I wince when I notice William appear from the other side on coincidence. He allows the taller man to squeeze past before moving again, unwilling to say anything to excuse himself.

His presently cold gray eyes, the very eyes I've reminisced quite differently, compels me to turn away in dread and freeze by the elevating shame. Seconds ensuing, I sense the air brush over my bare arms and perceive most of him behind me through the small mirror. His stern glare meets my eyes directly from the reflective glass and his frown hardens. No doubt he seems more intimidating when angry as opposed to being subtle.

"Andrea, don't get too distracted by Green's company. I insist you perform your best conduct without any further interruptions, including the more intimate moments with others," he suggests on a harsh note.

"But, William…"

His gaze tightens and he shoots a finger at me.

"No 'buts'," he spouts. "I won't hear anymore of what happened between you two. Just do your job as instructed. I also want a full-page report of anything unusual you identify within your search, and I expect it by my door before bed tonight. Do not disappoint me again."

He definitely has transformed into a vulgar leader, with no passion for anything or anyone aside from the demand to complete all regular duties. Although persistent to reveal the trust of why I kissed Ben in the first place, he's in no mood to listen. I just want to clear the air and confess I did not truly betray our love as he believes.

"Yes, sir," I confirm softly.

He darts past and towards the door out of the dining room, with no reluctance to stop or even slow down.

Shortly after, Ben returns with a solemn expression now illustrated on his face.

"I couldn't help but overhear all that, Andrea, and I still apologize for blurting about your little gift," he admits.

"Don't worry, Ben. I appreciate your great level of sympathy over my problem, and maybe things between William and I will heal with time, who knows," I say with higher optimism. "Even if our relationship is severed into pieces, deep down I am certain that root is not really dead and will soon emerge with new life again. For now we're just being stubborn as oxen."

"Ooo, I respect your new confidence, and I like the analogy of you comparing love as a plant. It may indeed continue to prosper no matter the harshest of conditions. I scarcely know what true affection is but I'm aware how well it can endure," he explains.

"Mm-hmm," I hum in agreement, nodding lightly.

At the recollection of William's letdown and the extra weight of work piled onto my shoulders, I veer off into space and sigh.

For the lingering minute we stand without another word, Ben surveys me intently. From my corner vision, he tries to open his arms to bind me into another hug but withdraws at every opportunity. Maybe he now worries about being too close to me, to avoid dishonoring our boss once again. It's like we both got stranded on the same boat together where danger surrounds us, and we must not dare any sudden movements.

Finally, he mimics my previous drawn-out sigh and lightly shakes his head, probably surrendering to a decision he despises but must roll with it.

"How about we don't see each other today?" he asks, exhaling again.

I gaze up at him with interest.

"Since you've now become even more engaged in the additional work Mr. Mayfield just gave you, maybe it's best you complete it at your own niche to not lose any focus. I'd rather not want to place you in anymore trouble," he recommends on a somber note.

"Hey, I can concur your disappointment, Ben, and it's okay," I say calmly, grinning. "We can always meet at a better time or even back here whenever food calls us again."

"Sounds good to me," he acknowledges.

That very hug he wasn't able to accomplish minutes earlier has finally come through, and I kindly return the gesture as I rise on my tippy-toes and wrap around him tighter. Then I perceive the portrait of Maxwell Mayfield looking back at me with his fiendish smirk of satisfaction, which no longer appears as alarming.

"Do you wish to return to our rooms together at least, whichever direction we choose?" I ask.

"After you, my dear," he replies cunningly.

Scoffing, I slowly retreat from his hold and escort us out of the dining room.

* * *

Throughout the reducing morning hours before lunch, I spent the duration scanning through each camera again and jotting down notes to eventually summarize and compile into my report. Even if I am already fully wise of everything significant that led up to the oil incident in the laboratory during our séance, I still pretended to be active as if someone was closely monitoring my progress.

Having no possession of any pens or paper to start jotting my rough opinions, I recalled both items at the doctor's office from my prior visits and headed there on a brisk jog. The pens were quite plentiful inside their crowded pen holder by the craning desk lamp; however, the only paper I had to settle for were those slightly thicker sheets with fancy doodles spanning across the top and the bottom. Perhaps William won't mind of such a design on my report, and my rather compact handwriting is legible to fit into an entire page. I also snatched a few pages in case I end up scrawling several basic notes and drafts before I could construct the final version.

Although we were still concerned by our boss's strict order to forbid seeing each other, that didn't stop Ben from hanging out in my room for a bit. We caught up on where we left off at the bar, mainly about the less important revelations Ben has experienced throughout his career as a biochemist. He also mentioned that the blue fruit he educated me on before, the one nurtured by the tree bowing over his bed, is now ripe enough to pop off anytime soon. Once he extracts its pulp to use for his fire ant farm, he will gladly bestow me its seed as a gift. He assures me it's a cinch for an amateur florist to manage its needs until it becomes a gorgeous tree, enticing me to accept his offer.

Then, he acknowledged his departure to mother his flora once again, especially if his matured Noxious Thorn was near dehydration. We bid our farewells, exchanged hugs and off he went, leaving me to my added punishment in my task.

Unfortunately, the fact that Frank is honestly behind the sleek mess still baffles me to an impenetrable writer's block. I have hesitated confessing this knowledge for too long, which I predict William suspected from me.

Eventually I found sufficient courage to scratch the words down, forming them into a single unpolished paragraph which shall compose the body of my report. Excluding the entirety of my loyal apparition should ease the burden we've placed on him before we even arrived at Greenland. After all I know he's innocent and doesn't deserve this poor reputation.

I specifically described the whereabouts of the walkie-talkie I presume is still hidden in the laboratory, even admitting my investigation for it at the same time both William and Frank were there and I was forced to withhold the urge.

What if that device has indeed been left untouched since then?

Remembering the other walkie-talkie in the control room, I quickly switch to the camera overlooking the cramped enclosure. To my relief, Frank has not moved it out of place or sight since the ritual, yet he did glance at it as he was leaving the control room a little while ago.

Despite the perseverance to finally expose my discovery regarding all this, I am nonetheless very distressed to do so. I still haven't fully determined who to count on with such valuable intelligence from my preceding thought the other day, though I felt Owen was the most reliable candidate to turn to. Now that I've been confined to a corner, I must execute this decision and not withdraw from it.

Ben is a caring soul, but ever since he accidentally gossiped about our small romance, he's no longer convincing in my eyes. He might deliberately throw false alerts around to cause commotion and dig me into a deeper hole if I ever informed him. Whatever "aid" he'll provide to try and free me from the dilemma may not turn out very helpful.

My verdict is set in stone then. Once my report is finalized I'll immediately write an identical paper for Owen to have. Actually, I just remembered he did become increasingly interested in my findings after Doctor Lee's untimely death yesterday, and I won't let another team member down over this stupid reluctance I've endured.

* * *

By around mid-afternoon, I have successfully composed and proofread my first full summary followed by Owen's duplication. My knuckles have become so stiff and sore from the continuous writing, I needed to straighten out my fingers with my other hand manually so I can start flexing them for more relief.

Ben and I were able to meet again at the dining room during lunch as encouraged, and we stormed up quite a conversation like everything is rather dandy. What struck me as remotely strange throughout our social gathering was William never appeared the entire occasion. It's as if he and Frank switched places since that blond devil was actually present this time. Apart from at least one circumstance I know of, Frank's usually been a no-show during the dining hours.

I can only imagine William's excuse is to avoid me mainly by choosing to eat before or after the rest of us, or he got quite engaged in extra labor that he simply couldn't turn up.

Once I retired to my flat afterward, I was moderately concerned of him to inspect my cameras. Eventually finding him in his room, I noticed he stayed glued to the laptop screen throughout the preceding hours, his fingers seldom sliding across the slick touchpad. The laptop's display was faced completely away from the camera's perspective so it was impossible for me to see what he was really doing; even his utterly vacant expression didn't help whatsoever.

Roughly ten minutes ago according to my device, he finally retreated from the computer and swiftly exited the bedroom as if in some frantic rush. It bewildered me as to why the abrupt change in plan despite the fact I shouldn't be too nosy over his business. If his stay lingered until now though, I would've given him my report and hopefully impress him enough to soften up on me again.

Using the last pristine sheets of paper, I jot down William and Owen's full names and sort them in front of each completed analysis before leaving my room on a normal stride.

I enter Owen's flat shortly after delivering William's copy, aware I'll encounter no dangers like any hostile tanks; however, I was ignorant to just burst in without checking if Owen was present nearby. To my ease negating my embarrassment, I don't sense his existence right away. The greater achievement of completing such a tedious task probably what clouded my better judgment there; I was also contemplating how to spend the rest of my day. I am eager to visit both my Eskimo buddy and Doctor Lee to mourn them in solitude.

"Hello? Owen?" I ask broadly.

With no oral answer and only the constant humming of his computer, I tiptoe to his table while nervously eyeballing my surroundings. After setting my papers by his equipment, an open notepad catches my side vision.

It starts with a date, today's date, a brief title and "Journal Entry #6", persuading me to believe Owen has been keeping a personal log handy for this mission.

While scanning through his handwriting, I realize he's referring to the enigma behind the oil in the lab, and that he's still unable to decipher any clues that could hint anything even somewhat significant to the incident. Then he mentions my bold wisdom in accumulating these missing pieces to the puzzle with my extra set of eyes around station 'Mary', and advocates everything I've proven in my findings thus far.

I sigh in appreciation to his good faith, reminding me of his recent meeting with Charles and Lisa. While Lisa had stated her skepticism which was undoubtedly her opinion, Owen defended my capabilities. That image there is enough to restore my confidence and I hope in high spirits my reports will ultimately diminish the fog around this suspense, disclosing whatever is truly lurking that we must acknowledge.

Before skimming the parting words of the entry, the door behind me hisses and I yelp. I spin around to find Owen standing motionless like a mannequin and leering at me dumbfounded, probably more startled by my reaction over my unexpected intrusion.

"Oh, Andrea! What summons you here?" he asks, crossing his arms.


	49. Chapter 48

Feeling vulnerable now that Owen has confronted me in his bedroom, I struggle to respond in vain. I stammer some incomprehensible babble impeded by my high anxiety, succeeding in only giving some form of tone. Although there's a logical reason for my unexpected presence, I should have departed sooner and not let curiosity confine me in this dilemma.

Instead of appearing more agitated by my lack of explicit reaction, Owen's expression shifts to concern. He approaches me cautiously as if to not frighten me, and lands a palm on my shoulder.

"Hey, don't fret," he assures me calmly. "How about you get comfy on my bed and I'll grab my chair? Then, we can talk."

Heeding his suggestion, I scamper to his bed on tiptoes and slowly sink my rear into its padding. Don't want Owen to hint I might bail on hysteria.

He pulls the lonely chair from under the table and drags it across the rugged steel floor. After rotating it towards me and setting it down with a steady metallic 'thunk', he relaxes on his temporary seating and sighs.

"I do apologize for causing you any distress," he confesses. "So what's going on? Were you searching for me?"

The tranquility he's shown so far has bestowed me the pleasure he's as equally sympathetic as Watson was days prior when he found me in his flat. Maybe Owen wants to avoid leaking a harsh attitude and set a level of resentment between us, since we need to coordinate well as team without any personal withdrawals.

"I, umm…" I mutter, still somewhat shaken. "I came to provide you a report I composed today, which I expect shall fill the gaps in your latest investigation."

"You did?!" he spouts more excitably and bares a toothy smile. "Where is it?"

"By your laptop," I confirm, pointing past his side.

Owen nearly topples over his chair as he suddenly rises and rushes to the table. Upon finding it with an approved humming, he removes the cover page and begins reading, suspending into concentration.

"Oh, this is brilliant, Andrea. Thank you!" he praises, breaking his focus. "I'll get right to it!"

"To be honest, I stuck around longer than anticipated," I solemnly concede. "I shouldn't have peeked at your journal."

"Really? Just the current entry or…?" he asks, not sounding alarmed.

"Yes, just that," I answer truthfully.

"Well, it's likely knowledge you've already scratched so I am not worried," he confirms, peeking over his shoulder and grins.

"If you say so," I murmur, both slightly relieved and still uncertain.

"Actually, I have a confession to make: I was looking for you myself moments ago to remind you of your digital footage to show me. Yet, I am plenty satisfied with this," he convinces me, tapping over his report.

"William instructed me to write a full summary and I decided to make a duplicate for you, too. He only requested any unusual activities that might've correlated with the oil incident during our séance, but he didn't mention anything else beyond that," I disclose.

"That's right," Owen recalls, grabbing his goatee lightly. "Aside from that puddle of oil outside the doctor's office, I assume you notified him of similar circumstances before that. Oh yeah, you know what happened to the cup William retained?"

"You didn't repossess it later for further inspection?" I ask, bewildered. "

"Wait a minute, what am I saying?" he blurts out, chuckling then clearing his throat over the mild embarrassment.

"I just remembered entering the dining room with Ben to find the cup alone on the bar counter. After taking it to the laboratory for a more thorough examination, we settled on a mutual agreement it was indeed oil. With that place now smothered in the gunk, our previous inquiry is no longer shrouded in disbelief. It's like…what you found was merely a foreshadowing of something far more critical, and I admire your effort in warning us beforehand," he explains, winking towards the end.

"Just doing my job, Owen," I say, smiling.

Then something else perplexes me and I stare off into space, diving deeper into the thought.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"Well…there's a special incentive why I wrote another paper for you. Upon these recent days I haven't resolved who to trust with such important intelligence gathered from my cameras, though you constantly shined as the utmost candidate," I reveal.

"Oh? What about our boss?" he quirks an eyebrow.

I shake my head and hum adversely.

"As surprising as it sounds, I find William to be the most suspicious. I only pursued his command to relieve our more…personal dispute," I mention.

"I understand. How do you find me most suitable over everyone else here?"

"That leads me to a rather particular question I need to ask you. I must know if my intuition is spot-on in your commitment," I insist.

He nods firmly in compliance and his eye contact doesn't stray for a split second.

"Are you a cop or some detective, by any chance?" I ask.

His eyes swell somewhat and he doesn't reply straightaway, which I can sense his reluctance to expose the likely secret.

A minute following as I continue to observe his disorientation, Owen finally sighs and motions me to lean in closer.

"I am a private investigator," he whispers into my ear. "Although I planned the séance originally as I do believe in that Eskimo's spirit, my new main priority afterward has been to apprehend whoever was responsible for the oily incident. I doubt the apparition carried on such a misdeed, as we assumed through our sheer panic from the activated sprinklers."

"Hopefully my report will help you crack that mystery wide open like a nut," I say optimistically, bowing back to my straight posture.

"I appreciate that greatly, Andrea, and I promise all this is between you and me," he assures me calmly, winking again. "Anything else you wish to tell me?"

"Nope! Got everything off my chest for now," I answer, shaking my head. "I'll leave you to your research and I'm available in case you ever need me."

"Hmm, where will you be the rest of the day?" Owen wonders.

"Well, since you have faith in the Eskimo's existence, I've acquired the location of his grave not too far from station 'Mary' and been keen to visit on a brief occasion every day; then I will head to the cooler room to honor Chin's passing. After that, maybe back to my room until dinner," I disclose.

"Splendid! Thanks again for leading me up on your discoveries."

"Sure thing!" I spout brightly, posing a completely different woman than I was before our little meeting.

I stand and offer a handshake as a truce to our delicate teamwork, and Owen approaches me to accept without hesitation. We both beam happily.

Once outside his room, I heave an exhale of relief for that positive outcome towards the end. I am also more confident than ever for trusting the guy, which I feel is the wisest decision committed.

* * *

I retreat out into the great white wilderness of Greenland shortly after I returned to my bedroom to bundle up for the frigid weather. Luckily my trip wasn't obstructed by something or someone else distracting me along the way, and I preferred it as such. Distancing myself from station 'Mary' and hiding in my secluded area should help me drift further from the woes I tolerated today and stimulate my excelling mood, although I can't stay too long before freezing.

The sky is practically clear except for a few clouds spanned across the cerulean dome, casting shadows over the rugged landscape and even the taller hills within a greater range beyond. They also don't appear to be sailing very fast, as if they're completely stationary or floating backwards. The sun is already lingering barely over the horizon although it's only around late afternoon; however, the rays are still intense to cause a dazzling glare throughout the carpet of snow.

I survey my surroundings with interest as I watch the stream of freezing evaporation escape my gaping mouth. Peering towards the indigo helipad, I notice the helicopter's door is somewhat ajar and there's a dark silhouette of someone inside the cockpit.

"Hmm, guess Frank has resumed work on the helicopter's repairs," I murmur under my bated breath.

Then I discover a nearly perfect trail of embedded tracks that he's presumably left between trips. Another set of footprints independent from his pathway gradually stands out more as they're also shaped quite differently – more narrow and pointier towards the front of the person's footwear.

Now ignoring the motive to resume my merry way to the Eskimo's burial, my persistent curiosity urges me onward to the helipad. Growing more concerned for whatever surprises await me there, I constantly try to remind myself of my previous desire to be away from my allies for a short duration.

On the other hand, my bedroom has established well as a haven for that very peace I normally cherish. Aside from the morning Owen entered to offer me the task of collecting those items for the ritual, no one else has paid me an unexpected visit so far.

* * *

I hoist myself onto the risen platform and sneak towards the helicopter, mindful not to provoke a commotion to alarm anybody nearby. Detecting a female voice inside, which I expect is Lisa since she and I are the only women on the team, I press an ear close to the tight opening and perk my attention.

The voice sounds obscured, like it's not coming from the helicopter's spacious compartment but rather inside the cockpit. As she continually blabs about whatever nonsense I'm sure Frank could care less about, I can only imagine his elevating stress of trying to disregard her while needing to concentrate on his work. If I had Lisa's position, I would spare my golden silence and simply hang out to provide Frank a little company. He'd appreciate that.

I slip my fingers into the exposed crack of the door, brimming with fear whether the door might suddenly close on them, and start sliding it wider open for me to enter. Bracing my first foot inside, I heave the rest of my body forth and tiptoe further within the compartment, again keen to not create any noise.

Frank's reliable toolkit rests on the aisle between the first row of seats, and there are a few individual tools occupying some of those chairs. A small access door directly above his temporary work area is currently open and revealing any dangling wires and other mechanisms inside, leaving me to believe he is also mending the helicopter's engine.

Did it really get damaged during the chopper's overheating and demands drastic patching, or is it not as serious and Frank is only giving it a less significant tweaking?

As Lisa continues to talk my ears off from the cockpit, I sense a light shuffling and check to confirm that Frank is indeed there, as well. Filling the same chair used during our flight to Greenland, his torso is mostly twisted away from my perspective, allowing me to recognize part of his forest-green jacket.

I observe him peacefully with a moderate affection, half-tempted to greet myself verbally though I don't want to notify Lisa of my presence. Suddenly, the chopper's entrance behind me slams with a near-deafening crash, forcing me to shriek in horror and spin towards it. The door recoils from the motion and stops abrupt, leaving it ajar as its previous status.

As anticipated, the cacophony has compelled Frank and Lisa to cease their activities and turn to find me standing out like a sore thumb. I present the most innocent simper possible to conceal the humiliation of getting caught, fearing any consequences that lie patiently in prowl.

"Oh, Blu! What a pleasant surpri-"

"What are you doing here?! Get out!" Lisa shouts, cutting Frank's more amiable salutation.

She vacates her seat and charges me like a feral bull fierce to strike. Terrified stiff, I can only preserve my ground although highly anxious to make a break for it.

"Hey, whoa, whoa! Lisa, stop!" Frank insists.

She snatches me singlehandedly by the collar and peers straight into my eyes with such vile intent.

"I said 'get out'!" she growls. "You were not invited and I won't allow you to interfere with my passion for him any longer!"

Now using both of her hands, she thrusts me violently against the chopper's door. It opens broader from my sudden added weight and I plunge backwards, swiftly wrapping my palms around my cranium and pressing my chin into my chest as I prepare for gravity to send me down. My body tosses like a ragdoll on the helipad until I finally settle onto my side, and soon I am petrified by the growing pain as it consumes every limb of my being.

I gaze up to find Lisa now staring me down from the helicopter, her expression hardened with such disdain and rage.

"Don't you dare come near him again, you hear me?!" she bellows, blatantly pointing a finger at me.

"Lisa! This is absolutely uncalled for!" Frank scolds her from behind.

"Who cares?! I shall not let her steal you from me!" Lisa counteracts.

She slides the door shut hard like a rambunctious teenager, leaving me unattended outside.

This is exactly the kind of outburst I tried so desperately to avoid whenever it seemed Frank wanted to stick close to me, and honestly at this point I cannot blame Lisa for her eruption.

With my actual love for William fizzled out, I now truly find myself drowning in melancholy with no savior deeming me worthy of deliverance. Only Owen as a living human being is keeping me invigorated to tread over the surface for any gasps of air.


	50. Chapter 49

Peering straight at the Eskimo's grave, I ponder philosophically on how his preserved corpse is lain underneath the lump of snow that still bulges from the relatively flat earth like a pimple. Relaxing in the snow with legs crossed close to my body for warmth, I pack a loosely rounded snowball no bigger than my palm and then start tossing it lightly between waiting hands.

It was my original desire to visit the spirit which I had managed to achieve, yet I'm under such discouragement I cannot focus well on the grievance. The native must be familiar with the misfortune I've encountered today and likely recognizes my sunken behavior. Even if my device has never reacted since my arrival, I always sensed his close presence. He could actually be sitting alongside me invisible right now, observing my expressions closely as each passing thought influences my state of emotion. He's a lifeless plush animal who will always be my trustworthy confidant.

Regardless of my brawl against Lisa, I didn't bother returning to station 'Mary' to recover from the bruises I accumulated or to squeal on her for abusing me. If Frank strongly opposed her action as I have witnessed, he's probably giving her a stern discussion about it now to resolve the ordeal, momentarily setting aside his primary duty to repair the helicopter.

My pace was not hindered by these injuries though, and I haven't felt too nippy yet. It may be that the lingering pain has numbed me to where I cannot fully perceive the subzero temperature pounding my bare cheeks.

I really despise the sinful side of my curiosity with a passion. It has brought me nothing but chaos throughout this entire excursion run. Lately I paid a rather hefty price for poking my nose in the wrong place and I should've ignored the impulse. That unique set of footprints in the snow would have easily risen a red flag to deter me from wandering into the punishment I faced; the humbling fact I have such a naïve nature does not aid me in these situations either.

Reflecting more on Lisa's outrage gradually manipulates my own blood to boil in fury. I hurl the snowball as far as I could with limited strength due to my resting stance. It almost reaches its mark at the base of one of the conjoined hills and crumbles upon landing.

I never intended to swipe Frank's affection from her whatsoever. Despite his offense behind the oil in the laboratory, I still deem him a team member and a charming friend – nothing more. Recently he has seemed to show more interest in me over her and that must've ignited her fuse, exploding at the utmost opportunity. Although it was a misunderstanding provoked by the mischief of me sneaking about the chopper, I respect Lisa's privacy in her adoration for Frank and wouldn't dare stand between them ever again. Such a shame our friendship was in a delicate balance that can shatter if mishandled in the slightest.

"My dearest companion," I mutter softly, addressing my immortal ally. "I am sorry for coming here so miserable and crushed today. If not for you, I'd have given up on this mission at any premature moment. If things weren't so unpredictable with my buddies or even my own actions, I'd still be soaring high. You constantly remind me of your loyalty for my diligence and I don't want to disappoint you."

A content moaning emits from my electronic inside my pocket, almost like a hum of appreciation. Then a foreign icy sensation wraps me steadily like a scarf, leaving me to believe he's bestowing me another hug to help rejuvenate my energy.

"Thanks. I needed that," I mention, grinning weakly.

* * *

Stimulated by numerous shivers shooting down my spine every minute, I finally deduce it's time to head back before I become a frozen statue. I rise to my feet and reverse a step from the native's burial, noticing an interesting indentation in the snow where I sat. After stretching out my limbs and inhaling deep breaths to savor the arctic essence, I bid farewell and ensure to return here tomorrow. The spirit responds once more in consent and appears before me to demonstrate another plunge into his mound.

Hastily trudging through the oil derricks' graveyard to the station, I allow myself to view the towers briefly; the thought of the faux spirit lurking around here only crosses my mind with inferior concern.

As I close in on Mary's entrance while resisting the urge to acknowledge the helicopter completely, I suddenly get this deviating inkling of being watched. It feels nothing like the peaceful vibe I experienced from the genuine Eskimo native, and there's nobody in plain sight to prompt this novel anxiety.

I eventually concede on the increasingly pointless notion and step inside, adding that bit into my mental journal of events the apparition's imposter has implemented under my nose without notice.

Now there's Chin left to visit, and after that I can resume my responsibility to oversee 'Mary' with my extra group of eyes for anything unusual emerging. Hopefully this day will conclude on a positive whim and I can forget its existence without remorse. I detest every lousy second it offered.

* * *

I enter the lab soon after an abridged stay at my flat to dispose my winter clothing – sorting them swiftly yet neatly inside the standalone closet to avoid creating a cluttered bundle on the table.

Since Chin's funeral yesterday, there hasn't been further signs of improvement in terms of cleaning up this place. It's evident by the newest oil tracks across the tidily swept floor to the refrigeration room that the group neglected. However, between the two rows of independent lab counters I presume the walkie-talkie to be hidden somewhere, the slick aisle remains utterly undisturbed. Intrigued, I'd expect Owen to turn the lab upside-down in a tireless effort to find it by now. In my report I didn't disclose precisely where it was because I haven't discovered it myself, but any rumor about that electronic is better worth revealing than nothing. There is even that other walkie-talkie in the control room, but it's a larger hit-n-miss especially if Frank can freely stash it away somewhere well.

After opening the wardrobe very gingerly with just my index fingers and then wiping them of the copious amounts of oil with a clean cloth I found inside, I snatch a white lab suit. I kick away whatever gunk has adhered to my sneakers' soles before diving into the outfit, completing the appearance with its adjustable helmet.

As with the previous circumstance I dressed into one of these rubber bags, I won't be able to access my camera device since it's on my person inside the suit. I can still listen for any commotions the electronic might transmit, but I can't imagine the Eskimo's exertion to track me here unless he has something relevant to inform.

Stepping into the cooler room, I instantly spot something on the floor next to the stainless steel table that Chin's body lays. While fighting to pluck it off the smooth surface, I realize it is a plastic card; it suddenly hits me the inaccessible door near the watch tower's extended ladder with the keycard indicator. Now growing more interested in what that room could be, the more rational half of my conscious is recommending me to hand it over to whoever lost this card.

While continuing to inspect the card and speculate who its owner might be, I hear muffled shuffling and metal warping to my left. Looking towards the source, my eyes widen and my jaws drops at what is unfolding before me.

The cloth enveloping Chin's corpse shifts as his upper torso starts to rise. Once ascended, Chin elevates his arms and he moans gravelly. All the while his sheet still provides complete protection from exposure, preventing me from acknowledging for certain it's him. Frightened, I almost lose grip of the card and paste my back against the wall, reminiscing the déjà vu of observing those ghastly wisps back at home. Compared to that, this is an advanced level of what incredulous and terrifying beholds.

For the ensuing minute the scene persists and Chin stares directly into my little window through his blanket, the overhead lights both here and inside the laboratory go out simultaneously.

I am now trapped in pitch darkness, except for a small red light blinking on the wall opposite me. I am scared out of my wits, feeling my heart ricochet inside my ribcage as I attempt calmer breathing to alleviate the panic rapidly tingling my nerves.

Relying on strictly memory of the door's location, I hastily evacuate the room. Thankfully, the exit functioned normal to my presence, which I suspected out of fear wouldn't operate if there was no electricity.

Once I supposedly retreated back to the laboratory as I can only envision, the lights miraculously spring to life and the same door now behind me automatically closes with a more subtle cacophony.

I spin around frantically like a crazed top, trying to register in my brain what the hell just happened. Did the elderly sage really move even though he's dead, or was it all a misconception? What caused the lights to cut off as if on cue?

The latter question quickly reminds me of the very situation rearing its ugly head during the ritual, and that Frank was responsible for killing the lights then.

However, what astounds me is I don't believe he just performed the same misdeed twice. I feel he is either conversing more with Lisa about her allegation against me or has resumed his work. He wouldn't waste time rushing into the control room and pull that shenanigan on me, especially if she's around.

If my logic is accurate, then who is the copycat apprentice?

Despite of me still unnerved by the paranormal episode, I stomp back in the cooler room with motivation to determine if that was Chin. I keep the card clutched tightly in my grasp, having nearly forgotten the piece of plastic was with me in the first place.

As I steadily remove part of the sheet veiling his head, I am soon struck with a heavy dose of surprise and confusion. I blink intermittently several times to ensure I am not hallucinating this time.

I easily recognize the doctor's aged expression, undisturbed with a weak smirk. In fact, the clothes spanning his higher frame do not seem out of place whatsoever, and the fine wrinkles stretched across the fabrics remain peaceful as I can sparsely remember. Also, if the corpse had already petrified into rigor mortis, any animating part of him I witnessed would not have cooperated very smoothly.

Unsatisfied with this enigma now at large, I enshroud Chin's exposed face with and slowly retreat from his table, investigating the corners of this frigid enclosure while fully aware of anymore pranks that could befall here.

* * *

After sorting my outfit followed by its helmet back in the closet with the others, I regain possession of the card I tucked into another suit's cuff temporarily to avoid getting it mucky with oil nearby. I have decided to retain the evil temptation and hold onto it for safe keeping until someone pleads for it. Maybe…just maybe at a more impeccable time I'll use it, not only to please my sick curiosity but to launch another camera inside somewhere.

Once my fingers release from the wardrobe's handles upon shutting its doors, the lab's entrance behind me responds with a rather odd sloshing from the oil splattered on it. Peeking over my shoulder, I can only distinguish a dark silhouette wearing a similarly black suit standing among the intense lighting in the hallway corridor.

"_Uh-oh__…__William?"_ I ponder immediately, flinching at the possibility.

"Oh, there you are, Andrea! Just like you said!" the figure exclaims brightly.

Quickly identifying Owen's voice instead, I sigh and my body relaxes from the tension developed. On the other hand, even if the person was William I would've been armed with a viable explanation for being here if he were to question me. After all he knows my misery in Doctor Lee's death, but I can also disclose I'm here to seek out additional clues to reinforce my report in case I overlooked something.


	51. Chapter 50

"Oh, hey there, Owen! What's up?" I chirp merrily, masking my usual modesty and the fact I was startled moments ago.

"I came searching for something but was also expecting you here as ensured," he answers in an identical cheery pitch.

He enters with caution and door behind him closes instantly, restoring the moody setup the lab demonstrates with its inferior lighting and the oil.

"Hmm, anything you request of me?" I ask inquisitive, although I am aware of his inevitable desire.

"Can you assist me in finding that walkie-talkie you specified in your written statement?" he pleads.

"Sure."

I sidestep past Owen and guide him to the aisle where I assume the device is still hidden somewhere.

"I am not overly positive…but I believe it's through there," I confirm, pointing at the mucky pathway.

He doesn't react straightaway as he glares nervously at the mess, gradually appearing more hesitant of tackling such a treacherous challenge.

With a sigh to reinforce my courage, I shrug off the upcoming danger and slowly place my first sneaker on the gunk.

"Wait, Andrea," he spouts, quickly snatching my wrist.

Obediently, I retrieve my foot and turn to face him while kicking off the oil.

"How about I proceed and you monitor me just in case something happens? Don't want you to get seriously injured and out of commission," he insists.

Nodding at the change of tactic, I retreat a couple steps and allow Owen to occupy my previous spot. He mimics my prior method, and despite the lab's countertops smothered in oil, he grabs the protruding edges for support as he pussyfoots further within the aisle.

Once he is near towards the end, he stops and recognizes one of the larger cabinet doors is ajar. He bends down and slides it wider open until he exclaims with joy.

"Ah, there it is!" he cheers happily, pulling the walkie-talkie from its secluded post.

Unlike most everything that was exposed to the oil invasion including part of the cabinet's inside compartment, the device has remained miraculously unscathed by the unrelenting wrath.

Owen tosses the walkie-talkie to me before he starts heading back. One of his feet slips on the dark grease along the way but he manages a swift recovery.

He eventually returns to my side and caresses my shoulder with a broad sneer.

"Such teamwork, Andrea!" he admires me. "Finding this walkie-talkie is one piece of gratifying news, finally!"

"It was nothing, Owen," I reply calmly. "So, were you able to analyze everything from my report?"

"Umm…" he peers off into space, pondering.

"How about we discuss that at the doctor's office?" he requests. "I parked myself there to conduct some research on your report without my obnoxiously loud computer distracting me."

"Sounds good, but first let's clean off our footwear do we don't leave any stains on the nice carpet there," I recommend.

Heeding my advice, we march to the public lavatory attached to the dining room, as it was a familiar place with disposable paper towels we can use. To avoid people confronting any accidents with our sparse oil trails, we stayed close to the walls while being very cautious to not slip ourselves.

After accomplishing such a tedious chore removing the gunk from our shoes as we can tolerate, Owen claims possession of the walkie-talkie and we exit the restroom together on a high note. I am especially very relieved of this small leap in progress after so many dead ends; hopefully more fortune will compensate for our diligence soon enough.

Once we reappear at the lobby and about to bank left, I suddenly freeze at the sight of Lisa entering the station from outside. She sees me right away and trots toward us – her expression now illustrating a sense of surprise and shame.

"Andrea, I am terribly sorry for hurting you! Can you forgive me?" she asks, cupping her hands into a single fist as if in prayer.

"Leave me alone," I beseech sheepishly, backing behind Owen as if perceiving him as a defensive parent.

"What's going on?" Owen asks bewildered, sharing glances between us.

"Lisa attacked me when she and Frank caught me snooping inside the chopper a little earlier. She made it very clear I was interfering with their business and suspected I came to steal his affection from her," I clarify as steadily possible despite my uplifting anxiety, not averting eye contact from her.

"Is this true?" he blurts with concern, now focusing more on Lisa.

"Please, this was all a misunderstanding. I had no idea that wasn't your intention to win him over," she begs.

I can speculate from the desperation in her tone that she is quite eager to hear my pardon for the misbehavior she dawned. As stubborn as I can be when holding grudges, I am not ready to accept her apology yet. Although still feeling timid of her presence, I am more so furious with her.

"I'm sorry but I cannot forgive you for your action, at least not now," I sternly state my decision, frowning. "What you've done was unacceptable, and you're such a rude person."

She petrifies into shock and her jaw drops, unable to counteract my judgment in any way. Even if she knew its potential, she definitely didn't prepare for this other outcome.

"Ladies, let's settle this in the dining room so I can better interpret your situation," Owen proposes.

"How about we don't, Owen?" I retort against his suggestion. "Besides, another time will be more sufficient when my anger is not fueled by my bruises and she dreads with a genuine guilt instead of seeking some shortcut around our confrontation."

After a lingering minute of us remaining quiet as a mouse except for a few of Lisa's brief croaks, Owen reluctantly agrees with my verdict and we both resume our route to the doctor's office in peace.

Along the way, I anticipated her chasing us down and clinging onto my leg, so to speak, until I am forced to give in. I'm astounded that commotion hasn't risen before we reached the entrance even though I bet she's still overwhelmed stiff. I do detest withdrawing from any possibility of repairing our friendship, as we both seemed to believe we'd make a great female duo. That was some fine wishful thinking, indeed. Overall, this entire experience has put me in an unpleasant stand.

Upon entering the office, I immediately notice the desk layered with papers and writing instruments scattered about. Owen has also brought his journal and my report, with the journal currently closed and occupying the spotlight underneath the craning lamp.

While getting comfy on the apple-green lounge chair, Owen sets aside the walkie-talkie on the desk and fills Doctor Benson's black leather chair diagonal of me. I realize he's still worried about my controversy with Lisa and wants a broader explanation; I will gladly cooperate to clear the air and hopefully forget this episode ever reared its ugly head at me.

"Andrea, is what you clarified really the meat of the squabble between you and Lisa?" he questions.

"Yes, what I summarized was accurate. As you know I planned to visit the Eskimo's grave, when I spotted a dark silhouette of somebody inside the helicopter's cockpit and tempted myself to check it out first. She didn't exactly inflict any physical abuse; instead she pushed me out of the compartment. The bruises I acquired are just the result of my rocky collapse onto the helipad," I disclose.

"Oh, are you okay? You didn't get seriously hurt, did you?" he pipes up.

"I'm fine. Aside from still being tender at some places I landed on, I doubt it's anything severe. Cushioning my head with my arms helped prevent a worse concussion," I answer.

"That's good to know," he acknowledges, presenting a feeble grin.

"Mm-hmm," I hum in approval and nod.

Then his smirk flattens and he begins to glower.

"Nevertheless, I am quite disappointed in her motive to harm you. We all need to contribute as a team and not provoke hate against one another over a personal dispute. Since I am at a reasonable break from my objective, I will seek a private word with her after our meeting has concluded," he mentions solemnly.

"Do what you will. I just want this ordeal behind me, as with every other misfortune I've encountered lately," I firmly state.

"I concur. Also, why did you reject her apology?"

"It was because of her desperation, like she was being psychopathic and didn't truly have regret for her wrongdoing. It sounded more she demanded my forgiveness to relieve another burden on her shoulders. I think it's better for time to lecture her on the error of her ways before I can pardon her," I explain, followed by a discomforting sigh.

"I understand completely now. Even with my pep talk, it should reinforce the truce for both of you," he assumes.

"Yeah, maybe," I respond with another weaker nod. "Well, before you take off, let's discuss our subject before related to the oil mystery."

"Certainly. I am still piecing together the critical parts to the puzzle with the aid of your statement, and the walkie-talkie we found is a step up in the right direction. Although the paper has been very beneficial to my research, I'm afraid I must ask another favor of you," he confesses, gritting his teeth lightly.

"Don't worry, I won't bite. What is it?"

"You mind if I borrow your camera device for a bit? I wish to view these occurrences to please my bigger thirst for knowledge, and I swear to hand it back tonight."

I soon reminisce a familiar event back in the helicopter, when Owen first snooped inside my case of cameras and later I freely handed my gadget for him to see their "master brain". On a more whimsical note, I would've been more tense if he hinted this same desire several days ago.

Without hesitation, I dig into my pocket and take out the electronic to give to him.

"I'm pretty sure you will," I say, winking girlishly. "In fact, you don't have to return it later. Take as much time as you need to muster everything you can."

"Oh, are you sure you're content with that offer?" he asks, slightly concerned.

"Affirmative!" I answer cheerfully. "I know you need it more than me, and who knows, you might actually discover something brand new that I haven't yet."

"Andrea, you're such a benevolent angel, but you cannot be a good watchwoman long without your proper equipment. After all you designed these wonderful machinery, and I prefer you identify these strange encounters before anyone else, including me. I personally like waiting in anticipation," he comments dearly.

"Very well then. Still, don't feel rushed if you only have a limited duration to obtain my device temporarily."

"Thank you," he acknowledges.

He tucks it into his pant pocket and pats on it lightly to guarantee me its safety. I react with a thumbs-up gesture and click my tongue in regards to his new obligation.

Seconds later, the thought of my report's most significant part perks up a new level of concern, encouraging me to stare at the composed paper.

"So, suspecting you're now conscious of Frank's crime behind the circumstances going awry during the séance, how will you proceed towards the climax of that conflict?" I ask him.

"Strategically," he says. "It's wise to pose a low profile to not excite the beast prematurely. In fact, since he and Mayfield are best friends, I won't inform anything to our boss until the verdict is set in stone. Whenever out of the ordinary happens, we both have our backs, right?"

"Right. Yet, you know William has the report, too," I note.

"It's all well and good. You simply embraced the assignment as you couldn't refuse it. Nonetheless, let's keep each other posted on anything else you might uncover and eventually they will all be over," he ensures.

"I sure hope so," I plead.

He proffers a handshake first this time and I accept, and then he departs from the office to, I assume, consult Lisa.

Without a doubt, this man can secure a grasp on the meaning of perseverance and collaboration. The fate of my device now lies in his protection and he doesn't want to disappoint me, which must be why he's willing to return it tonight to prove his loyalty.


	52. Chapter 51

After Owen's flight from the doctor's office, I unwind like a couch potato on the lounge chair and force myself awake as I survey every inch of these ordinary walls. While glancing at the walkie-talkie that stands proudly on the desk like a piece of black licorice, I cannot help but contemplate why it was never retrieved before Owen and I discovered it.

Did Frank forget about it entirely? Had he truly planned to obtain it soon despite the oil? What if…he purposely left it as bait for unsuspecting morons to scoop up?

Thinking deeper into that final option, déjà vu quickly settles in as I reminisce him and William sulking about the mess in the laboratory. Perhaps Frank wasn't only present to provide composure for his friend, but acted as a hawk to forbid someone like me from ever finding the walkie-talkie. On the other hand, a part of me claims it wasn't his intention to lure people this way; however, he has become increasingly unpredictable.

I realized Owen has carelessly abandoned his work in vulnerable sight, without at least stashing the more crucial pieces. A thief in disguise can snatch whatever pleases them and scatter back into the darkness like a roach. This concern has encouraged me to stay put until his return, but I do not wish to stick around forever. Who knows how long he will be conversing with Lisa.

To help redeem my sanity from this boredom, I decide to browse through the bookshelf that stands adjacent to the lounge chair. I slide off the slick furniture and onto my feet, sidestepping in front of the sturdy bookcase like a crab. As expected, the books occupying its subdivisions all bare titles in relation to medical science, from the various types of medicine and diseases to the human anatomy.

A particular heading sparks my enthusiasm and I pull the book out, ceasing halfway over some grotesque image illustrated on the front cover. I moan in disgust and shove the book back in before the picture completely burns into my retinas.

Despite being slightly startled by that unfortunate circumstance, I continue to scan each visible label, crouching down for the lower shelves and then rising on my tiptoes for the sections towering over me.

As I am about to give up search, a tiny book scrunched between two morbidly thicker textbooks barely catches my eye. Using my bony fingers I carefully drag it out without so much disturbing the others. The front title, clearly inscribed in a feminine handwriting displays, "The Journal of Ariel Know".

My curiosity instantly peaks and I gasp lightly, aware I might have actually uncovered some personal diary, different from Owen's. The name seems unfamiliar to our group's roster, so it must've belonged to somebody during Maxwell Mayfield's mission.

Eager to read this in my bedroom, I tuck the journal into my pant's single back pocket and spin towards the door. Sighing softly at the exposure of Owen's things, a light bulb tings in my head and I grab a nearby bundle of sticky notes. I scrawl a brief message and slap the slip of paper onto the desk lamp.

It is simply a suggestion directed for Owen to check the camera overlooking this room and then rewind the footage. Hopefully whoever else reads the note will disregard it with confusion.

I gather the walkie-talkie, Owen's personal notepad and my report, and place them inside separate desk drawers. Peering up at the camera above the doorway, I wink girlishly.

"You may wish to be more mindful in the near future and don't leave your equipment unattended again," I recommend.

Now with the weight of that burden off my shoulders, I dart out of the office. Assuming Owen knows technology like an old friend, he should be able to solve my little challenge by using my device for guidance.

I invigorate my legs into a lengthy stride as I readily turn left to follow my usual route back to my flat. After entering Mary's four-way corridor, I immediately bank for the western access when another door behind me responds. Resisting the urge to check who else has appeared, I sustain my speed without even a hint of stalling.

As the cacophony of the western door shrills against my eardrums, I could've sworn I heard my last name.

Only one person refers to me strictly by my last name and doesn't include a proper honorific, prompting my adrenaline into high gear as I zip through the windy hallway. I am nowhere near prepared in being confronted by Frank about the incident with Lisa earlier, nor do I wish to be bothered by him personally.

After storming into my bedroom, I hastily rip the diary from my pocket and shove it underneath my pillow. Even if I successfully evaded Frank, he's likely more than determined to locate me wherever I went. With my electronic no longer in possession to pinpoint where he is now, the reasonable option is to simply surrender and expect the inevitable.

Resolving to hang out in my bathroom, I park in front of the mirror and gaze at my reflection solemnly staring back. That's when I notice a small reddish bump on my right forehead below the hairline.

Even though my arms were able to cushion my skull during the fall, I still must've landed on it hard sometime in the tumbling. I'm shocked that Owen never noticed it, but maybe it started developing shortly after our small gathering had dispersed.

Pressing into the swollen mass with a couple fingers, a moderate deal of pain agitates my nerves and causes me to wince feebly. Now I have this atrocity for onlookers to see, unless I can somehow drape my extensive bangs over it without obstructing half my vision. As the more sinful side of me wants this left exposed to prove Lisa's aggression, I would be ashamed provoking such a commotion to have her exiled from the team. The fuse we ignited will hopefully fizzle out before problems escalate and we will be buddies again. My injuries are my own punishment for being inconsiderate.

The abrupt noise of my bedroom door jolts me fully conscious from my stupor. I alternate a now nervous glare between my own eyes and the currently open door frame behind me, knowing this new visitor will soon encounter me. Holding my breath and sealing my eyelids tight, I heed for a familiar voice to call out.

"Are you here, Blu?"

Instantly recognizing Frank's tone, I resume my normal respiration after a deep exhale and keep my eyes shut.

"Yes," I answer reluctantly.

The heavy steps from supposedly his winter boots clump steadily closer to the bathroom, and eventually a foot stamps its final thud beyond the threshold. I can now picture just his head peeking inside and facing me with fingers wrapped around the door frame.

"Blu, is everything alright? Why did you run off like that?" he asks, sounding mildly worried.

I do not respond straightaway; instead, I look up and scowl at him through the mirror.

Then his own eyeballs gradually bulge and his countenance fills with apprehension. I groan in the lesser amusement that he just now noticed my bump.

"What happened there?" he demands, pointing at my forehead in the reflection.

Before I could reply, he approaches and attempts to feel over the wound from behind. I swiftly duck away and retreat a couple feet from him.

"Please…don't touch me," I plead timidly.

"I wasn't going to hurt you," he insists calmly. "I really want to see."

Although still skeptical, I dutifully stand my ground as he marches towards me again; I close my eyelids as he slides away my hair to examine the entire swelling.

This endures momentarily until his same palm shifts downward and rests against my cheek lightly.

"Hey…" he murmurs to me.

Opening my eyes once more, what I see next is him expressing an utmost care that reminds me greatly of William's brotherly love. It's as if he's here instead.

"I am very sorry for what happened," he confesses.

He then digs into one of his jacket's front pockets with his free hand and reveals a moderately large wrench.

"This wrench is probably still frigid from being inside the helicopter's cold compartment all day today. You will need some ice to reduce the lump but this should suffice for now," he suggests.

Knowing his aid means well and virtuous, I obtain the tool – loosening my grip some due to the biting cold that has consumed the spotless piece of metal. Once he retreats his palm from my face, I press the side of the wrench's head against the bulge and hold it in position.

"For as relentless as this episode arose, you didn't deserve the consequence it unleashed," he says.

"What are you talking about?" I ask in disbelief, narrowing my eyes.

"Hmm?" his expression lightens, as if sensing a challenge in my tone of doubt.

"Sigh, of course I deserved it," I admit in sadness. "I shouldn't have penetrated through Lisa's privacy bubble as I foolishly did. I allowed my curiosity to impede my better judgment of leaving you two alone and pursuing my route as prepared. I apologize if I was a tad harsh in your comment."

He shakes his head with a positive humming and grins.

"It's fine. I understand your opposing feelings yet there's no motive to keep beating yourself over that final verdict to come see me. I would've been flattered if you had stayed for a short period. The instant I caught you stepping out from the station, I was hoping you'd bestow me some distant greeting but without stimulating the Mrs. Hyde in Lisa," he clarifies.

"Do you really cherish me more than her?" I ask.

"Honestly, I do…even more so after I observed her hostility against you. Again, I always had this particular soft spot for introverts like you, and Bill has shared identical opinions over time," he concedes.

"That explains why your generosity is so equal to William's," I mention. "Your burden for my well-being minutes ago reminded me merely of him."

They both must consider me pitiful from the misfortunes I've encountered, which may or may not even pinpoint William's main reason for dumping me before Ben's slip.

"Speaking of Bill, did he ever find you?" Frank asks. "He nearly trampled over me in some frantic search party."

"Yes…but I'd rather not talk about him anymore," I answer, slightly agitated.

"Uh-oh…I recognize the distress in your pitch. Did something happen between you two?"

"If you must know, we broke up this morning. Don't ask why," I insist sourly.

His eyes narrow in disbelief, glaring at me as if trying to intimidate me enough to reveal more. Then, his expression softens and he sighs.

"Very well," he acknowledges. "As your level of discouragement has enticed me to learn more, I won't further aggravate you to leak this information. I'll question him later."

As I continue preserving my silence, I rotate the wrench and resume pressure on the lump. During the conversation, either the previous side of the tool was beginning to feel warmer or I adapted to its frigid temperature. Now I can firmly grasp the blunt handle without much hindrance.

"Okay, how about this?" he chimes in once again. "Have you ever run into Lisa a little while ago?"

"We did, but I couldn't accept her apology. Her plea sounded quite urgent with no remorse to it," I reply.

"Darn, I knew she would do that," he grumbles under his breath and snaps his fingers.

"Meaning?" I ask, quirking my eyebrows with interest.

"Well, I bribed her on some dumb promise I now regret dearly. If you ever pardoned her, then she will have earned my full sentiment again. Afterward she became so eager to find you that she fled the helicopter before I could say anything else. I'll need to locate her and drill some more common sense into her callous brain."

"Owen has beaten you to that, as a matter of fact. He was a sole witness to the sudden dispute and was willing to help settle the score between us women. I do not know if they're still conversing right now," I disclose.

"Fair enough. I'll leave him to the pep talk then. As for you, don't hold this grudge against her too long. Sooner or later she will see the error of her ways and everything should resolve peacefully from there," he implies.

"I know, and I do hope so, surely. Nonetheless it feels wise to just wait until time has healed all these mental wounds," I say.


End file.
